The Debt
by Ta Paixao
Summary: Juniors in college, Bella and Edward live together under a tense agreement. They aren't exactly friends - not anymore - but Edward has a debt to pay and a promise to keep. Edward will get his chance at redemption... Rated for all sorts of adult content. EPOV. Tattward.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**This story will deal with sensitive subject matter indirectly. No descriptions, flashbacks, scenes, or narration.**_

**A/N: **I told myself I wouldn't start a new story until _London Calling_ and _Crashed_ were complete, but this one wanted out. I've been kicking the idea around for a while, so here is your introduction to _The Debt_. As always, mind the rating. My characters are rarely polite and the story won't be all flowers and sweet romance.

What you will get is a Tatward who is a surly bastard, loyal to a fault, and hellbent on burning the world down with him to keep a promise. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 1: Walk of Shame**

**"You need to get your hags in check." **

I reeked. Bad. As I slowly regained consciousness, brought on by the shift of weight of my mattress and then the sound of fabric rustling, I took a good whiff and realized with some modicum of distaste that I smelled of whisky, smoke, and stale sex. I heard a few little thuds on the rug and peeled open one eye to see a leggy blonde hopping on one foot while she slid on a pair of black fuck-me heels. I popped an eyebrow at the sight of her buoyant tits bouncing in profile. Her eyes met mine; she smiled like a thoroughly satiated little minx and winked.

"Thanks for the ride. See ya around, Cullen."

"Later, babe." I watched her tiptoe quietly out my bedroom door toward the stairs, sighed in satisfaction, and crossed my arms behind my head.

Tanya was a down girl. She knew the deal and never put up a fuss or stalked me around town. The chick didn't blow up my phone and harass my friends looking for me. Every now and then we ran into each other at a bar, had a few drinks, did the dirty, and parted amicably. Why couldn't all girls be so cooperative?

I lay in bed for another hour or so, but eventually was too disgusted by my own stench to stand it any longer. I showered, gingerly lathering anti-bacterial soap on the new ink that covered my right ribcage, and went about making myself feel human again.

My latest piece was the image of a hooded figure—I considered it a reaper of sorts, Bella had taken to teasing me that it looked more like a Dementor (fuck that)—prying itself out from between my ribs in a background of fire. The entire image was black and gray, and I was damn proud of how it turned out. The left side, also black and gray, was an illustration of a scarred and sliced arm hanging at my side. The tattoo matched the length of my own arm. In the hand, which landed past my hip, was a sword that stretched all the way to my ankle down the outside of my leg.

Over the last three years, I managed to get full sleeves that stretched from my wrists to my collarbone. My back consisted of eighteen hours of sitting under Sam's heavy hand. The guy was talented, but I think he took some small pleasure in causing me pain. The image was a full-color illustration of Christina The Astonishing.

The first piece I ever had done, which was perhaps the most morbid to anyone else who understood its significance, was that of a raven with its wings spread wide across my chest. The tips of each wing were nailed down. In its talons, the bird clutched a single skeleton key. I was only sixteen when I got it done, and while any other tattoo artist might have kicked my ass and told me to get lost, Sam had taken my money and inked me without question. Likewise, any parent would have been completely justified in hammering his kid for coming home looking like a convict, but dad didn't say a single disparaging word or attempt to punish me.

After my first sitting, I'd come to understand why people said that tattoos were addictive. I did, however, agree to appease my father in some small way. In pants and a long-sleeved shirt, all of my ink was covered. I didn't let anything rise above my shoulders and kept my hands clean. Only the small lip ring in the corner of my mouth hinted at what was going on underneath and below.

My dad only ever asked that I keep the modifications within reason until I knew I had a career where those sort of appearances wouldn't keep me from making it past the interview. As long as it was all hidden when it had to be, he didn't give me shit about it. Actually, he really liked most of the work. I sort of got off on the fact that people who met me with the façade on had no clue was it all covered up.

Surveying my bedroom, which consisted mostly of piles of laundry I'd been avoiding, I processed through the sniff test until I found a pair of dark jeans and a black Henley that were on the passable side of clean. I'd strip the bed later. My current priority was starchy food to settle my stomach.

When I hit the landing from the stairs that led toward the kitchen on one side and the living room on the other, I felt a pair of knowing brown eyes watching me. I knew I shouldn't look over there. Nothing good ever came from the morning after ritual. But as usual, I just couldn't help but glance at the girl curled up on the couch with her laptop open and ear buds hidden under dark hair.

Seven little fingers were held up over her head, but Bella averted her gaze back to the computer screen rather than look for my reaction. Like she didn't give a fuck.

"Don't you have anything better to do than wait for the walk of shame?"

"Don't you have an appointment to get your dick swabbed for STDs?"

"Fuck off."

"Get bent."

And so everything was par for the course on a Sunday morning. I held out my middle finger as I turned toward the kitchen. Every weekend was the same routine. Bella would be up bright and early to witness a girl from the night before making her way out with her bra in her hand and her makeup smeared. I'd glare at her flat expression of indifference. We'd send a few barbs at each other across the room, and then do it all over again a week later. The scoring system referred to the noise level of the previous evening.

Bella, the socially deficient roommate I'd been saddled with, was usually tucked in her room by the time I stumbled in from the bar or a gig. Inevitably, the sound of my headboard beating a hole into the wall or a chick getting well and good would wake her up. But she never came banging on my door to shut us up and she never tried to shove us off to the one-night stand's place. She just put up with it and gave me shit in the morning.

The reason for our strained living arrangement was a long, complicated, depressing-as-fuck story. It usually took the short walk from the stairs to the kitchen counter for me to remember why the hell I'd agreed to it. However, once my eyes landed on the breakfast left warm and waiting, I forgot all about being annoyed with Punky and smiled. The girl could seriously cook.

That was all bullshit. I knew exactly why I was living in this massive house in the middle of nowhere, an hour from campus, with the girl who was both the bane of my existence and top priority.

At first, when we were thrown together in this house freshman year, it weirded me out a little that she was always cooking and cleaning up after me. She brushed off the free meals by saying she liked cooking but just always made too much. Cleaning, she insisted, was less about mothering me and more about the fact that I was a slob and she couldn't stand living in a messy house. Whatever. It worked for me.

In reality, Bella wasn't so bad. She mostly kept to herself around the house and never lectured me about my shit. I knew I could be a surly, inconsiderate bastard in the morning; our little spats weren't entirely her fault. For the most part, we got along and just appreciated the fact that we only had to put up with living together for two more years. We'd both be graduating from college; Bella was set on moving to Boston for her master's degree and I was going to high tail it to New York the second I'd fulfilled my promise to my dad and had my undergrad degree in hand.

No one was under the misconception that this arrangement could last forever.

Propping myself up on a stool at the counter, I dug into the sea salt bacon, scallion scrambled eggs, cinnamon toast, and hash browns Bella had left warming on the stove. It never escaped my notice that her food tasted just like my mom's, but I quickly dismissed the thought and let the hangover drown out all thoughts of her.

I reached out to pour another glass of orange juice from the carton, wincing at the soreness along my right side. I knew better than to get rowdy under the sheets so soon after getting new work done, but I'd been horny, Tanya was willing and convenient, and it seemed like a good idea after a few fingers of scotch. Unfortunately, I couldn't remember if it had been worth it. I guess a seven on Punky's sliding scale meant I'd had a decent time.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Rubbing my dry eyes until I could somewhat focus on the tiny letters, I read the text from Emmett:

**Jessica is on the warpath. You're fucked. Hide.**

Motherfucker. I had no idea what I'd done to earn her psycho wrath this time, but all I wanted to do was camp out in front of the TV for a few hours and marathon Netflix. Relegating myself to a sure thing like Tanya was supposed to have staved off the drama.

I figured Emmett's warning meant I had at least twenty minutes before Jessica made it all the way out to the house—the nutcase clearly never learned it wasn't polite to show up unannounced and uninvited—so I texted back a quick thanks for the heads up and returned to my breakfast. I should have known, however, that my morning had only just started to deteriorate.

"You need to get your hags in check."

Bella leaned against the opposite side of the breakfast bar and swiped a piece of toast right off my plate, never mind the three pieces still sitting on the platter. She did that all the time and it drove me up the wall. But since she was the one doing all the cooking, I'd given up trying to break her of the habit and teach her to keep her thieving little fingers to herself.

Rather than answer, I just shrugged one shoulder and took another bite of food. When did it become too much to ask to eat my meal in peace?

"That Stanley girl has left six text messages and two voicemails in the ten minutes you've been awake," she continued. Her voice was more boredom than irritation. Bella knew the drill, but didn't mean she had to like it. "You might want to search your bedroom for a web cam."

"You've got to admire her persistence," I replied mockingly. I was sure Tanya wouldn't have walked out the front door only to immediately alert Jessica that I was up and ready to be tormented.

"Not when she's abusing my phone with her whiny bullshit." Now her tone had some bite to it.

I looked up to see Bella expectantly waiting with her dark eyes burning holes into my skull. I set my fork down and roughly ran a hand through my damp hair. She had a point. It wasn't part of the deal that my roommate had to field angry calls from random groupies.

"You're right. I'll take care of it," I told her sincerely. Punky and I weren't best friends—hadn't been in a long time—but I did my best to watch out for her. That was the one requirement of me. And keeping skanks from harassing her definitely fell into that category. "I'm sorry about that."

Bella looked away, putting on that practiced disinterested expression as she crossed one shapely leg over the other. I really couldn't complain about the view. The girl was petite, a total knockout, and had no qualms about prancing about the house in my old TOOL sweater and a tiny pair of shorts. It was her favorite sweater, and it always made my ego a little sturdier when she changed into it the second she walked in the house.

"If she shows up here, I'm turning on the sprinklers." She tried to make the threat sound intimidating, but the corner of her lips turned up in a wicked little smirk. Her eyes slyly shifted toward me, to which I winked at her. Bella laughed, shook her head, stole my last piece of bacon, and sauntered off.

Half the time I wanted to throttle that girl. The other half I wanted to wrap her up in blankets and swear my undying allegiance to her if she'd just smile again. The rare moments when Bella was just relaxed, laughing, and more like her old self, I cherished them. I had a debt to Bella that I'd spend the rest of my life repaying. I owed her my head on a platter. And if ever given the chance, I'd take a bullet for her.

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End Notes: Please let me know what you think so far. I'd love to hear your early comments and predictions about the B&E backstory.


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

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**Chapter 2: Get out of Dodge**

I never went out of my way to piss Bella off, but I rarely exerted too much effort to stay on her good side either. That ship had sailed, hit an iceberg, taken on water, snapped in half, and taken all souls aboard down with it a long time ago. Today, however, I owed her one. My way of scoring a few points in exchange for the psycho "ex" blowing up her phone was to do the dishes after breakfast. I probably did it wrong, and Bella would roll her eyes and wash them again when she thought I wasn't looking, but hell. At least I tried.

Using the next few hours to press my indentation into the couch clearly wasn't an option anymore, what with Jessica's impending scorn racing down the highway in our direction, so hide we would.

I found Bella upstairs curled up on her bed, legs bent toward her chest, with a large sketchbook on her lap. The charcoal pencil between her fingers was furiously rubbing across the page, making the softest scratching sound in the otherwise silent space. As usual, she had her ear buds embedded under a curtain of long brunette hair. Her bottom lip, that damnable thing, was firmly trapped under her front teeth as she concentrated on her illustration and gently bobbed her head to the music.

I waited a moment to see if she'd notice me leaning in her doorway. When more than a minute passed without a glance and no sign that the little Kate Sammons protégé was anywhere near complete, I approached her and sat on the edge of the bed. I leaned over to take a peek, but Bella quickly turned the sketchpad over to glare at me.

I tugged one of her ear buds out. The sound of Scott Weiland's voice sprang out of the little speaker. "I've got to take the Les Paul to Jupiter. You want to come along?"

"How bad is it?" A little worry line formed between her eyebrows. It passed through the slight indentation on her forehead that was left behind when Bella had the chickenpox in first grade.

"The neck is loose," I shrugged. "It sounds like shit. Von will have to strip it down and reset it."

"What an asshole," she hissed.

Not Von. Bella referred to the drunk bastard that had jumped on the stage and proceeded to give us his best Slash impression while swiping my Gibson Les Paul guitar off the stand behind me during the band's set a couple weeks ago. I decked him with a right cross and launched him off the stage, but he managed to take my guitar to the ground with him.

"We can run by campus to pick up our text books," I offered. Sundays were usually our time to run domestic errands anyway. Routine was a cornerstone of our living arrangement. "Hit the grocery store."

Yes, Bella and I went to the grocery store together. We made quite an entertaining sight for small town soccer moms. Perhaps it seemed uncharacteristic that a man with a lip ring and two arms covered in tattoos would do something as mundane as browse the cereal aisle, but everyone has to eat. Besides, I was not the sort of prick who would send Bella off alone with a list to fetch my meals for me. I was fully capable of pushing a cart and gathering my own food from the shiny halls of mass consumerism. I was a prick, just not that sort.

"You're going to class this semester?" She arched a sassy eyebrow at me.

"I go when it's necessary."

"Right. What could an institution of higher learning possibly teach the prolific Edward Cullen?"

"I'm still waiting to find that out."

Bella rolled her eyes and swatted me with the back of her sketchpad. "Swing us by the art supply store and you've got a deal."

Really, Bella never asked much of me. Though she'd inevitably spend more than an hour canvasing the little shop and obsessing over pencils, paints, and so on, what kind of asshole would I be if I couldn't give her such as easy request? I was an asshole, just not that kind.

"Of course," I agreed.

She didn't so much smile in response, but nodded her head and twisted her lips slightly. It was the most I could expect.

"You need me to wait outside first?" I got up off the bed and shoved my hands in my back pockets. This part was always a little tense. On a normal day, leaving the house was a production. Today, if we wanted to escape before Jessica's arrival, we were on a tighter deadline.

"Nope," she shook her head and put her sketchpad away in her nightstand. Bella tied her hair up in a ponytail and wrapped her ear buds around her neck while slipping her phone in her pocket. "I'm good." Her deep brown eyes met mine. In them I saw just the tiniest bit of pride. She knew I'd want to get out of the house. She'd been preparing herself.

I watched as Bella proceeded mechanically toward her bedroom windows. They framed a set of French doors that opened to the second story balcony, which wrapped around the house. In precisely the same order—always the exact routine—Bella unlatched and latched the locks five times. I saw her hand linger on the door handles for a few seconds, her fingers squeezed and twitched a little to repeat the action, but she took a breath and spun around quickly to exit the room for mine next door.

To every window and door in the house—seventeen in total without counting the front door or exterior garage entrance—I followed silently behind as Bella performed her ritual. I never rushed her and I never behaved impatiently. After all, I'd done this to her. It was my job to assure her later, when she inevitably teetered on the edge of a panic attack, that she hadn't missed a single point of entry.

She had done well today, and I smiled at her when we made it to the alarm keypad in the foyer in less than four minutes. I felt like an arrogant shit for trying to offer her my approval, but Bella seemed to take some level of pride on the days when we didn't make two or three trips mid-ritual back to the second story to start all over again.

She keyed in the code three times, disarmed the alarm three times, and didn't hesitate to take a step back when she was ready for me to finish up. Definitely a good day.

At the front door, Bella locked up—the doorknob and two deadbolts—and only jiggled the handle for forty-seven seconds before she sighed and plastered on a calm expression. I held open the passenger door to my black '69 Camaro, watching as Bella brought up the security app on her phone to check again that the system was armed. If she touched a door handle before we made it to the road, she'd freak out and have to start the whole process over again.

Once I slid in next to her, I peeked over while Bella brought up the seven interior security cameras and seven external, all streamed in (mostly) real time.

Without a word, she nodded to me. I started the engine, enjoying the mean purr, and did my best to ignore the fact that Bella's knuckles were white and fisted in her lap. She turned the radio up, Rage Against the Machine thrashing at an ear-splitting decibel, and stared straight ahead at the tree-lined dirt driveway that spanned two hundred yards out to the two-lane road.

Once the house was no longer visible through the thick surrounding forest and my front tires pulled from the uneven dirt and gravel to the flat pavement, I hit the clutch and slammed the stick shift. Bella rolled down her window while we thoroughly exceeded the posted speed limit toward the highway. She liked it when I drove fast, so I was more than happy to oblige.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N:** I'm so glad so many of you have enjoyed the start of this story. Thank you all for the comments and reviews thus far. Consider this one my ode to the '90s.

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**Chapter 3: The 27 Club**

** "…no good Cullen deed ever went unpunished."**

Jupiter sat in a converted brownstone sandwiched between a fantastic Thai restaurant and a sketchy massage parlor that I wouldn't be caught dead in. The music shop and its owner had occupied the same little plot of the city since the '60s, before Thai Town sprung up around him.

Von, a weathered roadie who had toured with every major rock act since the end of disco, was the only man I trusted to work on my guitars. In fact, he'd sold my dad the first instrument I'd ever touched. But that was a long time ago, and I hadn't laid a hand on her grand piano in more than five years.

I found it impossible to walk inside Jupiter and not recall the stupidly excited feeling I had gotten at seeing all the instruments situated around the store for the first time. I had never seen a guitar in real life. Shit, I hadn't even known what a cello was. Back then, just a kid, was the day I realized that my life really had changed, and I was never going back.

The door chimed as Bella and I passed through. Punky didn't wait for a word from me before she took off toward the back of the store to browse on her own. Jupiter carried everything. The front of the store held guitars, drums, and the usual suspects. In the back were the makings of a full symphony orchestra. If Von didn't have it, he'd find it for you.

Speaking of the old man, he was leaning on the wooden counter and flipping through a copy of Rolling Stone. I didn't have the heart to tell him that shit was digital now.

"I need you to give me some good news," I announced as I placed my guitar case on the counter. Every inch of wood was covered in scrawl and Sharpie graffiti. My name was on there somewhere, along with Bella's and a drawing she'd done of us as cartoon lobsters when we were in middle school.

"Trent and Atticus have been in the studio working on new material. A tour is imminent." Von popped open the locks on the hard case and pulled off the dust cloth that covered my battered '72 Les Paul. This one was so damn sexy. Gold top, white pick guard, and it sang like a dream under my fingers—so responsive to my touch. That was until some sick bastard molested my pride and joy.

"Thank fuck for that." Now if Maynard could peel himself away from the vineyard long enough to push out a new TOOL album, I'd be a happy man.

"So what's the story?" Von pulled the guitar out and gave it a cursory inspection. His meaty hands were rough. I tried not to wince at the way he manhandled the instrument, but I knew better than to fear for its safety.

He was a huge man with long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail but bald on top. He had a bushy beard and arms covered in old-school style tattoos that were so aged and faded on his tan skin that the black ink had turned closer to green.

"You tell me," I answered. I glanced down at my own exposed forearms. Yeah, maybe one day my flabby old-man arms would look more like a melting Monet. For now, I thought my ink was pretty badass. More than that, it was a warning.

Von tucked the guitar under his arm and strummed a chord, and then another. Yep. My baby was in pain.

"Loose neck," he announced in a voice that spoke of impending lung cancer. "I can strip it down, reset it, and have it back to you on Wednesday."

"Perfect." I smacked the counter, quite pleased that he would get it done so quickly. I needed time to tune it up my way and break it in a little before our show this weekend. "You're the best. Really."

"I said I could." Von's tone changed and I looked at him questioningly. He made no move to release my Les Paul. "Not that I would."

"The hell, old man. Are you blackmailing me?"

"Explain how this beautiful instrument—a model of craftsmanship—came to be in such poor condition. I warned you, Cullen, when I sold this to you that I'd snatch it right back if you didn't take care of it."

I looked at him dumbfounded. He was dead serious. This guy had known me since before I could see over the counter. He'd sold me half a dozen guitars over the years. I was nothing if not an ally to the stringed community.

"Von, man, you know better. Some guy snatched it from the stage while we were playing. I was on the Strat at the time. It got ugly, but I rescued it."

"Uh-huh." Von wasn't impressed. His dull brown eyes scanned the body, the neck, and then the back. There was not a damn scratch on that thing. Well, not counting the belt buckle scars on the back, but those didn't count. "Wednesday," he reluctantly nodded. "But I see you neglecting this again and I won't give it back."

"You'd have to cough up a lot more than the $2,000 I paid you for it. I have an emotional attachment that money can't cure."

"I bet you do." He held up the guitar vertically. "Is this the body your wet dreams are made of?"

I paused. Actually, now that he mentioned it, guitars did have a certain feminine quality to their design. Huh.

"Okay, kid. Keep it in your pants or I'll make you mop it up."

I snickered as Von gently put my guitar back in the velvet cradle and closed the lid. He proceeded to mess around on the computer while inputting my invoice.

"So, how's the little guy? Last I heard Kyle learned to play 'Heart-shaped Box.'"

"Sure did," he answered proudly. "I've been trying to push some Slayer on him, but the kid is a sucker for Seattle grunge."

"I expect he'll receive a damn-fine education in music history from his grandpa. Hell, my world was thrown wide open when you introduced me to English punk rock."

"I'm in hot water with his mom," Von groaned. He leaned back against the wall and surveyed the store behind me. It was nearly empty when we'd walked in. There were two other employees not trying to look busy and a teenager in the back messing with the DJ turntables. "Kat lost her shit when I got the little man an Orange amp for his birthday. Apparently he only knows how to play loud."

"Smart kid," I laughed. Kyle was a damn guitar phenom at age 7. His grandpa couldn't have been prouder. Von's only child, however, was less than thrilled. The metal head was cursed with a daughter who was more boy band than Pantera. Such a shame. "Tell him I'm happy to jam together again the next time he's in the shop."

Kyle was smart as a whip, cool as hell, funny, and would probably be a better player at 15 than I'd ever be. And that was really saying something. Frankly, he reminded me a lot of myself at that age, if the guitar had been my destined instrument. But it wasn't, just a substitute.

"Will do, Cullen." Von offered his hand and I shook it firmly. Again he looked over my shoulder. I turned to follow his stare. I found Bella in the bass section. She had a blue Fender over her shoulder. "When are you going to get that one playing?"

"Not likely." Punky could have passed for a member of 4 Non Blondes at the moment. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail, a black Ramones shirt over a gray thermal, and jeans with a hole in the knee that wasn't there when she'd bought them. "I think I taught her four chords, but she never really took to it."

"Too bad." He swept his eyes over her, made a clicking noise with his tongue and the corner of his mouth, and shook his head in a regretful manner. The old man was teasing me, so I chose to ignore it. "Chicks and guitars."

"Yep," I agreed. "Chicks and guitars."

xXx

At the campus bookstore, Bella and I grabbed two cardboard file boxes from the stack at the end of the cue line and took up position behind about thirty other College of Arts & Humanities majors. Bella was working on a degree in digital media with a minor in art history. I was studying music composition and performance.

Though it was common knowledge that the former child prodigy had given up classical piano five years ago, I had still been offered a full scholarship to the Music Composition and Performance major. I turned down the scholarship—I didn't need the money and so it should go to someone who did—but enrolled in the program anyway.

My undergraduate advisor and the dean of the college had pleaded with me to return to the piano upon enrollment, but I had made it clear that I'd play damn near anything else and the subject was not up for debate. It was considered a tragedy when Edward Cullen recused himself from touring as a classical pianist. The real tragedy was having lost my muse and my motivation in the same horrible year.

No matter. The disquiet did incredible things for my songwriting and new dedication to progressive rock. Since I wasn't keen on joining the 27 Club, unresolved trauma was my heroin.

I wasn't the sort of selfish that would put the barrel of a gun between my lips, though I had what any therapist would consider sufficient motivation. I was selfish, but not that sort.

Bella glanced at me from the corner of her eye. Her typically flat expression was marred with questioning concern. "What's wrong?"

Why did she still ask me things like that? "Nothing," I shrugged indifferently. No way was I opening up that topic.

Bella wasn't the only one who'd perfected the plastic look of flat disinterest. The new Edward Cullen was only ever lusting after his guitar, an hourglass figure, or a bottle of whisky. There was absolutely nothing deeper or darker going on inside. Not a thing.

"Whatever." She stuffed her ear buds back in, let down her hair to effectively close the curtain on my very existence, and scrolled through the playlists on her phone.

Brilliant. Once again, all would have been fine if that damn Jessica would stop sniffing around my dick. We would have been happily coexisting silently in the living room right now, watching X-Files or something, and paying attention to the screen rather than actively ignoring each other. A few more months of this, and either I'd become a monk or Bella might finally snap and run Jessica over with her car. I still had no idea how I'd put the kibosh on Stanley's abuse of Bella's phone.

The story of Jessica Stanley was far less sordid and scandalous than had been reported through rumor and gossip. But since I had no interest in involving myself in constant reputation monitoring, I just let the grapevine twist as it would. Erroneous versions of what prompted Jessica's infatuation ranged from my having banged her sister in their parent's bed—Jessica didn't have a sister—to ditching her on the side of the road during a spring break road trip. Again, I had certainly never gone on an extended vacation with the girl.

In truth, no good Cullen deed ever went unpunished. Freshman year of college I had agreed to do my buddy Ben a solid and accompany him on a "group thing" that was the cover for finally asking Angela out on a date. Since brining Bella along was way out of the question by that point, I'd fallen on the armed grenade that was Angela's friend Jessica. We'd all gone to high school together, but between junior year and the start of college, Bella and I had drifted away mostly. And because Emmett and Jasper were complete assholes who enjoyed making me suffer for their own amusement, the "group thing" turned into a double date after they bailed on the night.

After a stilted dinner, we ended up at a dorm party where Jessica proceeded to swallow twice her weight in Jell-O shots. The night ended with the drunken girl throwing herself at me, throwing up on me, and passing out. Let me be perfectly clear. I never touched her and I damn well never "dated" her.

I drove the girls back to their dorm building where Ange made sure to tuck her friend safely and alone in her bed. The next morning, however, her roommate Lauren convinced Jessica—for a reason I will never understand other than Lauren is a raging bitch—that I'd gone to bed with Jessica and snuck out in the morning.

And so from that following morning forward she went from a needy puppy following me around with the idea that I had someone become her boyfriend to a crazed stalker that altered her story with the ease of a schizophrenic Chihuahua. One day we were in an "on-again, off-again" relationship, and then next I had date raped her. My father's attorney had put a swift end to that malicious slander with a restraining order and threat of a lawsuit. It worked for a while, but once the order ran out, Jessica started magically showing up and harassing my friends again.

Irritated and growing impatient at the infuriatingly slow pace of this line, I roughly rubbed my hand through my hair and groaned. I got fidgety when I felt trapped and anxious. The manifestation of that energy was to slide the barbell of my tongue piercing between my teeth back and forth to an imaginary rhythm in my head. A blonde in front of us turned around with a scathing glare. Apparently the little noise of metal clicking against bone was distracting her from absolute mind-numbing boredom.

However, the moment her light blue eyes landed on my chest, and then raked upward to find my face several inches above hers, the blonde's frustration turned to admiration. I was in no mood. I parted my lips to give her a quick peek at the metal embedded in my tongue and then held up my right hand, twirling my index finger in a signal to turn around. She scowled at being so flippantly dismissed, but I was rewarded with the back of her head.

Punky raised an interested eyebrow. Something about that wry expression always got to me and I felt my dick twitch. No, the randy bastard had no concept of propriety. My lips curved up into a crooked grin. While her mouth pressed into a tight line, her eyes smiled the slightest bit. I poked the ball of my piercing out just enough to tease her.

"Keep that thing in your mouth or I'll snatch it out," she announced too loudly. Over the music playing only between her ears, her voice caught the attention of the entire student body in the general vicinity. Bella noticed, and like the girl I'd known longer than I'd known myself, she displayed not one ounce of embarrassment. "What?" she snapped at her audience. "Buy a ticket if you want a show."

Sassy little Punky.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N:** I'm thrilled with the response so far. Thank you so much. And big thanks to **alliz**, **Nic**, and **The Lemonade Stand** for the rec.

* * *

**Chapter 4: Don't think about it**

**"...I'd say my dad gave me steady hands and sure fingers."**

Summer vacation had been trying on the fragile arrangement under which Bella and I lived. Without the distraction of school, we were both home more often than not. The house was a waste of space for two people, but even all that superfluous square footage wasn't enough to dissipate the tension in the space between us.

I didn't despise existing in the same home or being around Bella. Even when we were outright fighting rather than just existing, I still preferred her company. It was just difficult. Walking on eggshells didn't begin to cover it. More like walking a silk thread suspended between the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben. And below that tiny tightrope, a churning torrent of guilt, remorse, and trauma waited with gnashing teeth to tear into my flesh.

The fucked up part is that Bella was the only thing that kept those monsters at bay, most of the time, since I was too chickenshit to just sit down and place my fingers to the keys of my mother's black grand piano.

Damn it.

I took a deep breath and shut my eyes tight. My stomach rolled with grief and nausea. The ache in my chest was pronounced as ever. My fingers curled into fists in my lap and I squeezed them rhythmically until my breathing matched the slower pace.

I was too sober to allow my thoughts to drift in that direction. Tuning out the noise and chatter of the student body passing around me in the student union on the first day of classes for the fall semester, I dug into my pocket and pulled out my phone. My father's name was second on the speed dial list. He picked up on the second ring. It was morning for me, but lunchtime for him on the East Coast.

"Edward, hello."

"Hi, dad." My voice came out clear, but there was obvious tension that I knew he wouldn't miss.

"You're up early," he noted with a good-natured tone of amusement.

"Bella likes early classes. I worked around her schedule this semester. We're both done by 3:00."

"And you get to beat rush hour heading out of the city."

"There's that too. It works out."

"That was very diplomatic of you."

"Yeah, well. How's your day going?"

"I taught two lectures this morning and am on my way into the hospital now. There are four new interns coming in for their initial orientation."

My father was the chief of surgery at a teaching hospital in New York as well as an adjunct professor within the medical school at the partnered university. Dr. Carlisle Cullen had briefly entertained the hope that I might find an interest in medicine, but supported me unwaveringly when my aptitude for music became apparent. If we shared our genetics, I'd say my dad gave me steady hands and sure fingers.

He was still talking. Somewhere in the middle I realized I'd not been paying attention. I was content to listen to his voice rather than the words.

"Edward," he prompted me.

I leaned back in the overstuffed chair that sat in a relatively quiet corner of the fourth-floor reading room of the union. "Yeah. I'm here. Sorry."

"I spoke to Bella briefly last night. She said your show on Saturday went well."

"It did," I agreed. Coming to the band's gigs was one of the few social occasions that Bella never missed. "We've got shows lined up for the next few months. Pretty steady." Likewise, my father had always shown a genuine interest in my music. In me. And when I'd announced an end to my classical career, he'd encouraged me to find a new musical passion.

"Keep me posted. I plan to come home for Bella's birthday. If you have a performance that weekend, I'd love to attend."

Home was always the house where he'd raised me—and Bella to a great degree—no matter that he spent 50 weeks out of the year on the other side of the country.

"Sure thing. I'd like that. We've been working on a lot of new material."

My dad hummed thoughtfully in answer. A long pause spanned the distance between us. I absentmindedly slid the barbell of my tongue piercing between my teeth.

"Talk to me, son." My father's soft encouragement reached out through the phone, and no doubt he could here the telltale clicking noise between my teeth.

"I was thinking about her," I admitted without pretense. "And about playing." I sighed and ran my hand through my hair as my head fell back against the chair. My eyes closed. "So I figured I call."

"I'm glad you did," he was quick to reply. "Today has never been easy for either of us. But you know what your mother would say."

My chest tightened painfully. He referred to his wife, my mom, so easily. I knew he missed her as much and probably more than I did, but it never ceased to confound me how he could think and talk about her without curling into a ball. Five years to the day since Esme died of a brain aneurism and still I was rendered nearly immobile when my mind slipped to her memory.

My throat was dry when I tried to speak again. "I miss her."

"Of course you do, son. I promise that it will get easier in time. But not allowing yourself to feel the grief and deal with it will only prolong the healing process. Don't deny yourself her memory, Edward."

I felt my eyes begin to sting. My throat closed and my fingers went a little numb.

"I gotta go," I stated abruptly. "Class."

"I love you, Edward. I'm here. Anytime."

"I know. Love you."

I hung up the phone and stalked toward the stairs before I embarrassed myself in front of the entire student body.

xXx

Three Red Bulls helped me trudge through the banalities of the first day of a new semester. Absolutely nothing productive happened in any of my three classes today, which was to be expected. I peeked through the narrow window in the door to look in on Bella's class. After scanning the lecture hall, I found her in the back, alone. Her head was bent over her sketchpad, that long curtain of dark hair concealing her profile from me.

Bella had her own car and no hang-ups about going out alone, but it made sense to save us both the gas by coordinating our class schedules and sharing rides. Making a two-hour round-trip three days a week would have just been malicious to our bank accounts and the Clean Air Act. Not that money was something we worried about. I had the trust fund Carlisle had set up to maintain the money I'd made from performing since I was nine. Bella had her inheritance.

I checked my phone for the time. The professor was going over budget. The students restlessly gathering their bags clearly hadn't caught his attention as he continued on with his Power Point presentation.

"Edward. Hey!"

Motherfucking sonofabitch goddamnit. That sugary voice in its high-pitched whine had my back up immediately. I stared hard at Bella's profile on the other side of the window, willing her to look this direction and see my dire need. No such luck.

"Edward," she whined again when I didn't acknowledge her.

The hall was starting to fill with students pouring out of classes and hustling their way around. I now had an irrational hatred for this oblivious professor who had detained my roommate, thereby delaying my escape. Was the whole world working in tandem to punish me?

"I tried calling you," she began behind me. I'd blocked her number from my cell after the restraining order. "And Bella—"

That was enough to set me off. This crazed badger was not permitted to speak that name in my presence. I rounded on her, shoving my sleeves up to my elbows unconsciously, an instinct to appear as off-putting as possible.

"Is of absolutely no concern of yours," I snapped to finish her sentence. "I don't know how to make myself any clearer." I stood almost a foot taller than Jessica. Her over-made eyes looked up at me with the sort of incoherent vacancy I'd come to expect. No matter the words that filled the air between us, she never really looked like she was listening. "I don't want you. I want nothing to do with you," I seethed and pronounced the words very slowly. "If it were up to me, there'd still be a restraining order keep you from within 500 feet of me. Better yet," I sneered, "you'd be locked up."

"I know," she sighed and rolled her eyes. "I was in a bad mood yesterday. Low blood sugar or something. But I wanted to say sorry and tell you that I really enjoyed your show Saturday night."

"I know for a fact you weren't at The Nest," I shot back. "You're banned. And even if you managed to sneak in, you'd be tossed out on your ass."

"Hey," she snapped her pink-tipped fingers in my face. "I'm trying to be nice. Don't be such a prick."

"Damn it, Jessica. Leave me—"

"Baby! There you are!"

I snapped my attention to the side at the squeaky little voice that was obviously directed at me. I didn't catch a face before a blur of black barreled into me. She crashed against my chest, grabbed my head in tiny hands to yank me down, and smacked an exaggerated no-tongue kiss right on my mouth. I was stunned enough that I sort of laughed rather than shoving her away. When the short girl fell back to her heels, I saw before me a pixie with spikey hair and clad in emo-punk style with tons of silver jewelry. She blew a bubble with her bright blue gum and winked at me.

Then she became my fucking hero. The girl turned to Jessica, scowled, and barked at her like a rabid pekingese until Jessica was so put off and horrified that she took off running in the opposite direction.

"I'm Alice. You're welcome. And I need a ride to your place."


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N:** As always, thanks for the comments and the love.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Magic charm**

**"You'll make beautiful elfish babies together."**

Nothing in my experience prepared me for the force of exuberant energy that was this Alice creature. She was Shirley Manson with a pixie cut, black leather pants, black tank top, and draped with silver necklaces. Bracelets covered her arms to nearly each elbow. But she was a little thing. And she was staring at me expectantly from behind those black-rimmed eyes.

"I'm flattered," I smirked. "And I'm grateful for," I waved my hand between us, "whatever that was. But it's not going down like that."

She was attractive, sure. Pretty face and cute body, but not exactly my type. For one thing, I never tangled with brunettes. "Though I'm flattered," I was quick to add. She had, after all, saved me one hell of a headache. I couldn't be rude, but I certainly wasn't taking her home in the middle of the day. I had rehearsal with the guys. More importantly, bringing a girl back for a quickie did not fit into the weekday routine.

"Oh. Wow." Alice backed up a little and her glittery pink lips curved into a sarcastic smile. "Hey, that's real nice. You're real pretty." He reached up to pat my shoulder patronizingly. "But I don't do the whole tattoos and piercings thing."

"What?" Humorous incredulity colored my tone.

"They totally work for you." Alice leaned her weight on one foot and toyed with a few chains around her neck while she studied my arms. "But I find it all too distracting. Besides, you," she twirled her finger in my face, "are too high maintenance. I don't have that kind of time on my hands."

Was she insulting me? I wasn't sure. High maintenance? The fuck. "Clearly I'm confused. Do I know you?"

"I told you," she stated with an annoyed sigh. "I'm Alice. You're giving me a ride. That," she tossed her thumb over her shoulder, "was a favor because you looked like you needed it. Consider it our bonding moment. We're well on our way to a beautiful friendship."

I was shoved from behind when the door to Bella's class flew open and smacked me in he back. I stepped out of the way to allow people leaving the room to get by, while still appraising the curious little thing in front of me.

"Okay. Well, thank you. Now would you mind explaining why you've invited yourself to my house?"

"I didn't invite myself." She looked around my shoulder then pushed her way past. "Late much?" Alice found Bella following the others out of the room and snagged her by the wrist to tug her over. "It did give me time to make nice with your roomie, though."

I studied Bella, who was allowing this girl to link their arms together as she stuffed her sketchpad in her messenger bag. "You don't mind, Edward? That Alice comes over."

"No," I shook my head, surprised. "Of course I don't mind. But, uh, how are you getting home?" Asking me to make another trip into the city and back today was right out of the question.

"I'll catch a ride back with Jazz." Alice smiled at Bella, squeezed her arm, and turned on her heel to practically prance down the hallway. "You coming or what?" she tossed over her shoulder.

Well damn. That was something.

xXx

After Alice tossed herself in the back seat of my car, I closed the door on her to get a little privacy and an explanation. Bella came up short, frowning as she tilted her head back to look up at me.

"I really don't mind," I told her again, "but I'd appreciate you clueing me in. What's up with Alice?"

It wasn't like Bella to invite strays to the house. She didn't have many friends—none, actually. Since junior year of high school, Bella had sequestered herself into social obscurity. Her circle consisted of the guys in my band, and that was only because she couldn't really avoid them. Of course, they adored her as much as she'd let them.

Bella bit her lip and looked past me at Alice, who was taping on the window. I felt her try to open the door from inside, so I leaned back to keep it closed.

"She was in my first two classes this morning," Bella answered nervously. "She's…nice." That was one way to put it. "Actually, she didn't really give me a choice," Bella continued with an indulgent smile. "I don't know. I like her. I figured it'd be cool since I guess she's with Jasper."

"With Jasper?" I saw my bassist two days ago. How had this not come up?

"It's new," she shrugged.

"And so you're friends now?"

"I'm allowed, aren't I?" Punky turned her irritated glare up a notch and put one hand on her hip.

"Get in," I sighed.

xXx

After two straight hours of banging through our set list for this weekend's show, I grabbed a bottle of water from the garage fridge and bent to sit on my guitar amp. Jasper set his bass aside while Emmett rubbed a towel over his face behind his drum kit.

The garage had become our usual rehearsal space since I didn't like leaving Bella alone at the house all night. It was air conditioned and spacious enough to hold four cars. Now, however, the floor was covered in old Ikea rugs and full of backline gear. I had a music room inside that I'd locked the door on and refused to step foot in again.

We sounded good, the new songs were really coming together well, and the vibe was there. There was just one problem—we were short a rhythm guitarist.

"Where the fuck is Tyler?"

Emmett and Jasper shared a knowing, albeit it disapproving, look across the room. "He had a date," Em responded.

"What's that all about? He just blows us off. Who takes a date on Monday night?" Em just shrugged to my entirely rhetorical question. Tyler had always been a bit of a flake, but he was a solid musician. It was not a shocking development that he'd called Emmett to break the news and not me. I'd have ripped his ass a new one. Our drummer was a damn pushover. "I thought he broke up with Nicole."

Last I'd seen of her—they'd been dating for a year—she'd knocked his guitar stand over, the Fender along with it, and kicked a hole through his amp. I wish I could say that was the most brutal of their fights I'd witnessed. The girl had a temper and low tolerance for being told to "be cool, baby" when Tyler was trying to push her off in favor of other activities. He wanted a reliable booty call, not a girlfriend.

"He did," Jasper confirmed. "I think he's out with that chick from The Nest Saturday night."

Ah. Now it all made sense. Still, getting his dick wet was not a tolerable excuse for missing rehearsal. For better or worse, I had a strict work ethic when it involved my music. That hadn't been lost since my touring days, and was entirely instilled in me by my parents. I admit that I occasionally demanded more of my band mates than they were inclined to offer, but I did keep gigs coming in and money in their pockets.

"Speaking of which," I turned toward Jasper and leaned forward to place my elbows on my knees. "You want to warn me the next time you sick a new BFF on Bella? That Alice chick is a piece of work."

Jasper's slow, easy smile spread out over his face unabashedly. He was a transplant to the Pacific Northwest from Texas. I swear that southern drawl roped in more tail than he could reasonably manage. But Jazz had always been the relationship type. He had that whole buttoned-up, gentlemanliness thing going. Which was surprising, considering his musical tastes. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed wet dream that girls could take home to daddy.

"She's a spitfire," he nodded proudly. "She strolled right up after you left the bar, grabbed me by the back of the neck, and told me to pick her up at eight. What else could I do?"

"Not even a minute into the relationship and she's already got him pussy whipped," Emmett snorted. He game himself a cymbal crash for emphasis, to which Jasper cracked an imaginary whip over his head.

"You'll make beautiful elfish babies together," I laughed. Jasper was shorter than Emmett and I. He also had decidedly feminine features. More than once I'd offered him $500 bucks to play our gigs in a dress. One day he'd be hard up for money enough to take it. "But since she ran Jessica off for me, I guess she's a keeper."

"Whoa, what?" Emmett wore a huge grin. The man was built like a linebacker, but he gossiped like a pubescent girl. I swear his nipples got hard at the mere mention of drama. "Stalker Stanley tracked you down?"

"Sure did," I groaned. "And thanks again for the warning yesterday. I went to pick up Bella from her last class and Jessica cornered me." I laughed at remembering Alice's entrance and defensive tactic. "Full disclosure, Jazz. Your girl planted a big one right on me. I hope things won't get weird now that we're sharing a chick."

"Bite me," he laughed and flipped me off. "Kate was actually in the hall when it happened. She sent me a pic."

"Nice," I nodded. "Really though, Alice was a magic charm. She chased Jessica off quick as hell. So feel free to bring her around as often as you like."

"Funny enough, I had nothing to do with that. I didn't even know that Alice was an art major. I guess she wooed Bella all on her own."

Huh. Interesting. "So that first date must have been deep," I teased him. "You two dove right in a covered all of the hard getting-to-know-you topics."

He smiled slyly and winked. Yep, a real intellectual attraction there.

"So Jazz is in puppy love with a girl who is some kind of Stanley kryptonite and Bella actually made friends. Dude," he looked at Jasper pleadingly. "Does she have a sister? A hot cousin or something?"

"Yeah, uh…" Jasper rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor. "We didn't get that far either."

Damn. Jasper the lady-killer. Whatever he did to her, it clearly worked real quick.

I heard Emmett's stomach growl across the room. He ate at least seven times a day and was still never satisfied. He'd shown up to rehearsal with a bag full of Taco Bell.

"I smell food," he announced abruptly, sitting at attention like a 250-pound meerkat. I didn't smell anything. With Em's superhuman nostrils, he might have been catching a whiff of the neighbor's dinner a half a mile down the road.

xXx

Emmett literally shoved me out of my own kitchen when we went back inside the house. We found Alice straining pasta—Bella had put her to work easily—while Punky stirred a huge pot of pasta sauce. Always made from scratch, and that just boggled my mind.

"Aww, honey, you cooked." Emmett came up behind Bella and wrapped one arm around her stomach while poking another into the pot. She smacked his hand away with the wooden spoon, splattering his shirt with marinara. "You know how much I like it when you get feisty," he teased. Wisely, he backed away before she did any real damage.

"Smells great," I told her as I slid by to grab a few sodas out of the fridge. Bella raised her eyes to mine and smiled politely for the compliment. "Need help?"

"Do you actually use that massive dinning room," Alice asked, "or is it just for meetings with Don Corleone?"

She had a point. And no, we didn't use it anymore.

"You can pull some dishes down," Bella answered me as she pulled the garlic bread out of the oven and turned off the stove.

I did as she'd bid me, setting places at the breakfast bar for everyone. Jasper was completely distracted with trying to distract Alice. Emmett was only interested in anything that could expedite food into his stomach. Even chewing was superfluous to him.

Ordinarily, I would have told the guys to order a pizza if they wanted to eat. Bella was absolutely not responsible for feeding my band. We'd had that argument once. Emmett had barged into the kitchen, riffling through our fridge, when Bella had interrupted and offered to cook him a proper meal. I had immediately interjected that she'd do no such thing—it was setting a bad precedent that all Em had to do was skulk around the house long enough if he wanted a free meal. A ten-minute argument later, and Bella pulled me aside to confess that it made her feel better to just feed the guys since they had to trudge all the way out to the house on her account. I would have argued that it was my fault, not hers, but we both knew I couldn't follow that logic for long.

My band mates drove the two-hour round trip because I wouldn't leave Bella home alone three nights every week. She couldn't be left alone. Non-negotiable.

We were well into enjoying our meal—Bella was an ace in the kitchen—by the time Alice piped up with the inquisition.

"These are seriously nice digs," she commented as her head swiveled to look around the room. "How long have you lived here? And why do you live so freaking far from campus?"

See. This is why we didn't invite in strays. I thought it better that I field the question. "I grew up here. This is my family's house."

"You live with your parents?" Alice smiled teasingly. "Not that I'm knocking you. I probably wouldn't give this up for a crappy apartment either."

"My dad lives in New York," I answered succinctly and shot Jasper a look.

"And your mom?"

"Did Bella give you the tour?" Jasper diverted. "You should see her paintings they have up in the library..."

Jasper kept right along talking, though the blood rushing in my ears drowned him out. My chest ached and my foot bounced nervously on the bottom rung of the barstool. I knew I was gripping my fork too tightly. My hand was visibly shaking. I tried to take a breath, but my lungs wouldn't open. Beside me, Bella didn't flinch. She kept right along eating as if she hadn't heard the conversation. But she did, and she secretly slid her hand to my thigh under the breakfast bar. My lungs opened. My pulse calmed a little. I took a bite.


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **Once again, thank you all for the comments and recs. And to answer a few questions:

TOOL is a band fronted by Maynard James Keenan. It is an awesome band and you should love them too.

I don't know how many chapters it will take to get to the center of this Tootsie Pop. Just keep licking and find out. The answer is not three. I'm writing this story completely off the cuff with no plot outline. If the answer turns out to be 42, it will be a complete coincidence.

No, Bella and Edward are not brother and sister. Esme and Carlisle are Edward's parents. Sorry if that wasn't clear. No family relation between B&E at all. Because eww.

I profusely apologize for the typos in the last chapter. Typing on my iPad meant autocorrect was turning "hole" into "whole" and "your" into "you're" and so on. I think I fixed those on the second pass. Hopefully I caught all of them.

No, I won't make you suffer for 20 chapters before you start to get some answers. I will spread out the tidbits in small doses throughout. Edward tends to drop hints in the middle of his inner musings, so pay attention and you'll probably figure it out before the actual reveal.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Save my life**

**If that didn't just twist the knife.**

"So how do you all know each other?" Alice asked while picking apart her garlic bread into smaller bites.

"Bella and Edward have known each other since they were kids," Jasper answered her. That was the polite way of putting it that invited no follow-up questions. "And Em and I met them in high school."

No matter that the topic of Esme had been artfully diverted, I still thought about her. I kept my head down, and was probably rude in ignoring the conversation around me, while Jasper and Bella managed to wrangle Alice's curiosity and ADD.

Throughout the remainder of dinner, Bella kept her comforting hand on my leg. It settled me enough to make it through the meal without an overtly obvious meltdown. I was a selfish bastard for letting her do it and the worst kind of asshole because it always worked.

"You barked at Jessica?" Emmett laughed loudly and smacked his hand down on the counter. He'd have paid to witness that.

When the first memory of your childhood is abandonment, you tend to latch on tightly to those who show you love. Esme was the embodiment of selfless love. She was nurturing, compassionate. Not only was she a remarkably talented musician and artist, she had a unique way of looking at the world that made everything appear brighter, better when observing through her filter. It was watching her play and loving the harmony of her piano that had been the catalyst for my musical ambitions. While I'd learned to love classical piano—I truly had a passion for it—it was seeking Esme's approval that had been my initial motivation. I wanted her to be proud of me.

I was five years old when Carlisle and Esme adopted me. I'd been in the system for two, maybe three years. The Department of Children and Family Services was so backlogged and understaffed that no one was entirely certain how old I was or exactly when I'd been turned over to the state. Which also explained the complete lack of oversight and required visits to check on the conditions of such homes.

It took a great deal of legal wrangling—and certainly a lot more money—to get the paperwork approved for my adoption. But my parents had persisted until the day they finally brought me home. Here, to this house, where my fondest memories were made.

"I've always wanted to learn to play guitar, but I just don't have the patience for practicing," Alice commented. "Or piano. My aunt…"

My mind had curled in on itself, so it was only when Bella furtively nudged me a few minutes later that I realized I'd been idly scratching my fork over my empty plate. The others had already begun to clear their places. In a detached trance, I helped Bella load the dishwasher while Jasper, Emmett, and Alice went into the living room to watch TV or some shit.

"Did you talk to Carlisle today?" Bella kept her eyes in the sink as she casually tossed out the question.

"Yeah. This morning."

She handed me one plate after another, which I put in the dishwasher as I purposefully avoided eye contact.

"Are you okay?" The question came out with all the inflection of a sheet of pristine cardstock paper. Flat.

"Fine."

"I can finish up here," she offered softly. And because all I wanted was to be alone, I set the plate in my hand on the counter and walked out of the kitchen toward the stairs.

It was bad enough that I had let Bella coddle me once tonight. Sure it was rude to leave our guests, but my mood had deteriorated quickly. I just didn't give a shit anymore.

Shutting my bedroom door behind me, I let out a breath and dropped my head back against the wall. My physical and emotional response to the mention of Esme had me feeling claustrophobic. My clothes were too tight, the room was too small, and even my hair was crowding my head. Since I refused to drop my problems in Bella's lap, though her company would certainly do the trick, I instead turned to my notebook. There was no drinking on weekdays. Songwriting was my therapy and escape when getting drunk wasn't an option.

Resting against my headboard, I started scrawling down words in a stream of consciousness as they came to mind. I rarely started with any particular direction or desired outcome. I simply let my mind wander for a while, spilling out the blackness that sloshed around in my head.

Inevitably, my consciousness drifted back to those tormented days before I knew what a family was or even thought I deserved one. That first memory, I had to have been three or four at the time, was of a woman sitting on a public bus next to me. She told me to stay in my seat, that she'd be right back. I saw her squeeze down the aisle toward the door, get off the bus, and that was it. I never saw her again.

When the last passenger had boarded for that stop, but driver closed the door and pulled away from the curb. I must have ridden that bus along the route for hours until the end of the driver's shift when he finally spotted me sitting toward the back. Next stop was the police station. From there, it was a series of foster homes. I shuddered when my memories threatened to delve deeper into that vat of agony.

Bella had saved my life. I had gravitated toward her the first day she showed up in my third foster home. To this day I don't know what drew me to her. Her parents had been killed in some kind of accident. To the best of anyone's knowledge, she had no surviving family. But the day Charlie showed up to rescue her from that living hell—the state had finally gotten its shit together and tracked down her godfather living out here in the boonies—was both the best and worst day of my life to that point. She was getting out, but it meant I was alone again.

While nothing Bella could have done in that home would have saved me what I repeatedly endured, having her there when it was finally over was a balm on the open wounds.

I didn't understand until many years later, but it had been Bella that finally freed me from the foster system and the daily hell I'd endured. For a week straight after going home with Charlie, Bella pitched fits, had nightmares, and ran away every night. One of Charlie's officers had found her barefoot in her pajamas wondering down the street alone. When he couldn't get Charlie on the phone right away, he brought Bella to Carlisle at the hospital.

Now one would think that a scared child ranting and raving about the boy she'd left behind would turn to her new father, who happened to be the chief of police in this tiny town. No. Of course it was Carlisle who had gentled her, comforted her, and finally pulled the truth the from the little girl's lips. So that's all it took. Carlisle got Bella home safely and put in a call the very next morning to start the process of adopting me.

I was eternally grateful to my parents, and had always endeavored to show them my gratitude. But Bella? I owed her everything. I wouldn't have survived much longer if she hadn't acted when she did. If he hadn't killed me, I might have figured out a way to do it myself.

My pen shook over the pages of my notebook. My eyes focused on one disgusting word printed on the page. I grew furious with myself all over again.

Bella had needed me once. Instead of being her savior and repaying that outstanding debt, I'd failed her in favor of my own selfish indulgence and loathing. It only sickened me further that despite all of that, Bella still gave me support so compassionately. She still lived in this house because she felt safer with me sleeping next door than she did in her own home.

If that didn't just twist the knife.


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **I can't express enough how thrilled I am that so many of you have enjoyed this story so far. Thank you for all the comments, tweets, recs, and ongoing support. Big thanks to The Lemonade Stand for selecting Under The Blood Moon (have you read it? Go vote!) as one of the stories featured in the FoTW poll. Keep the comments coming. I love hearing your thoughts.

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**Chapter 7: He started it**

**I was still angry, but now I threw inanimate objects like a girl rather than throwing a punch. Progress.**

I was going to kill him, or perhaps just maim him a little. I'd known the guy since high school. At one point I would have considered us friends. At this moment, I wanted nothing more than to wrap a steel guitar string around his neck and tighten my grip until I saw the life leave his eyes.

The stage washed in blue and a single white spotlight cast down on my microphone, I couldn't enjoy the sight of the audience moving to our music. I couldn't fully lose myself in the feel of the frets under my fingers and cool body of my repaired Les Paul against my hips and bare stomach. Sweat trickled down my naked chest—the raven weeping—as I sang, but the cleansing effect was absent.

I'd strip Tyler of his Fender guitar—he'd clearly forgotten how to play the instrument and therefore had no further use for it—to demonstrate my best Babe Ruth impression, pointing to the front-of-house audio and lighting booth before taking a swing at his head. The crack would be satisfying, as would the thud when the decapitated former member of my band collapsed to the stage floor.

Tyler hadn't deigned to grace us with his presence at rehearsal at all this week. I had been of the mind to play tonight's gig at The Nest without him. Emmett, of course, went to bat for Tyler and convinced me that Ty would be good to go by show time. Not so much. Against my better judgment, I'd agreed to let Tyler take the stage with us. By the end of the first song, it had become apparent that his body had been possessed by some unholy creature bent on destroying music as we knew it.

Tyler was out of tune, falling behind on the rhythm, and not even trying to save the set by at least putting on a good show. His posture was stiff and he kept his eyes firmly on his fingers, like it was taking all his concentration to suck this badly.

I had forgiven him for missing Monday's rehearsal. I begrudgingly forgave him for dodging my phone calls and skipping out on the band for the rest of the week as well. I would have bitterly cut the guy some slack if he'd come up with a good excuse and just admitted that he had to back out of tonight's gig. This? No way. I was so fucking done with his punk ass. It is one thing to flake on your band, but it was an entirely different sort of insult to stand on stage and embarrass your band mates with such an abysmal performance.

When the song was finally over to end our set, I didn't wait for the applause or bother to look back at the guys to see if they wanted to do the encore. I simply abandoned the mic and walked off stage, immediately turning the corner that led to the greenroom backstage. Fuck this shit.

I kicked open the flimsy door that was barely on the hinges anyway, gently set down my Les Paul, and picked up the first thing my eyes landed on. I hurled Tyler's guitar case across the room, putting a nice dent in the graffiti-covered wall. The greenroom was just a dingy little room with a bathroom attached. There were two disgusting brown couches and a counter with a mirror that spanned the distance from one wall to the other. Not fancy digs, but it matched the motif of the college dive bar where our band Eclipse played on Saturday nights.

I knew better than to put my fist through the wall. Breaking my hand was not something I longed to do again. And though shattering the mirror that reflected my impotent rage would have been satisfying, I reigned myself in and tamped down the urge. As I waited for the guys to enter, I repeated a silent mantra reminding myself not to rearrange Tyler's face. I hadn't hit anyone, without just provocation, since high school. Two hundred hours of anger management had supposedly done me well. Whatever. I was still angry, but now I threw inanimate objects like a girl rather than throwing a punch. Progress.

When I heard the door creak open behind me, briefly letting in the noise from the bar, I glanced up into the mirror to seethe at the faces of my band mates. Jasper I had no problem with. Em was on my shit list for talking me out of pulling Tyler from the gig. But the real source of my ire was the little shit that wouldn't even look me in the eyes.

"You're out," I snapped impatiently. No need to preface the obvious. "Get your shit and go. You're not getting a cut for tonight."

"Hey, Edward. I know that set was rough," Tyler collapsed down to the couch farthest from where I stood leaning with my hands on the counter. "But it was just a bad week. I think I caught a bug or something. I'll be back at rehearsal on Monday and next week will be better."

"There is no next week for you," I answered him flatly. "There is no second chance." In reality, Tyler had been granted numerous chances to get his act together. Every time he came late or bailed on a rehearsal altogether weighed against him. He'd too thoroughly tried my minimal patience.

"You can't just kick me out," he argued, still looking anywhere but at me as I stared at his reflection. "I've been in the band just as long as you."

"A vote then. Jasper?" I met our bassist's eyes in the mirror. He wore a stoic expression that gave nothing away, but with one tight nod I knew I wasn't alone. "Emmett?" Our drummer looked at Tyler regretfully, but nodded just the same. Done deal.

"End of discussion," I stated definitively. "Now get the fuck out."

The new trio that comprised Eclipse was silent as we packed up our gear. No more needed to be said on the topic of Tyler, and so the matter was closed. We could worry about the consequences later. At most, we'd maybe lose a few bucks at the door that represented Tyler's friends. As far as I was concerned, the price was worth cutting the dead weight loose.

Back inside the bar, the guys went to join Alice and Bella at our usual table while I found the Bar's owner Marcus. He was in his office across the hall from the greenroom. Really, the office was more like a large closet with a single desk and chair, no room for visitors to sit among the file cabinets and boxes of flyers stacked up along the walls.

Marcus was a tall, skinny dude that looked like he might have been a meth addict at one point in his life. His eyes were just a little to sunken and large in his head. His skin was loose and papery. But he always paid us in cash and invited us back week after week. I didn't need to know his life story.

I knocked on his door as a courtesy, though he'd likely never hear it over the noise from the main floor. Inside, I found him hunched over his desk with stacks of cash in small piles. It was a lot of money. I closed the door behind me.

"Edward, hi." Marcus nodded as he wrapped a rubber band around one stack of cash and slid it in a plain envelope. "Just in time. Here's your cut of the door and 2% of liquor sales." He handed over $500 in twenties. I never bothered to argue about rounding up or down. We'd never get a better deal at a different venue.

The Nest was a popular spot and always filled to capacity on Saturday nights. It was also the only bar in the city that brought in live rock and alternative bands to an 18-and-up crowd. I suspected that the bartenders were lax on checking IDs. But again, that wasn't my problem. I folded the cash and stuffed it in my pocket.

"I caught a few minutes of your set," Marcus continued as he lit up a cigarette and went right along counting stacks of cash. "I like the new stuff."

"We sounded like shit," I argued honestly. "Tyler is out. We'll be better next weekend." I leaned back against one of the filing cabinets, stuffing my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. I'd put on a Sex Pistols shirt after loading up our gear, but I was still sweating through the fabric.

"You're the expert," he shrugged.

Yeah, I'd played on my name and relative fame to land us this weekly gig last year. I'd earned the notoriety, after all. Why not capitalize on it? Marcus glanced up, eyeing me speculatively for a moment. I guess there was nothing left to be said, so I thanked him and left him to it.

The most undesirable part of the post-show ritual was making my way through the bar to our table. We'd typically finish our set by midnight, which gave us two more hours to relax and have a drink before closing time. I'd have preferred it if I could just walk the distance across the room unnoticed. Instead, those in attendance felt compelled to slap me on the back, grab my hand to shake it, offer up a pretentious fist bump, or otherwise put their hands on me. I hated it. I had to keep my eyes focused on the distance and grit my teeth just to survive the onslaught. No matter how cold or uninterested I appeared, men would continually approach me with words on appreciation for the show. That was all well and good, by why did they feel invited to actually touch me while doing it?

I pushed and slithered my way through the bodies crammed densely in the small bar. It was standing-room-only, save for a set of five tables in the back. They were all reserved. Usually a group of scary biker dudes occupied the other four. When they weren't sitting in them, they remained vacant. The band had the fifth.

The tables were separated from the floor by two steps to the raised platform and then a wooden railing. The moment I crossed that threshold where other patrons knew better than to enter, I let out a breath of relief. My fists unclenched at my sides and I let my shoulders relax from their tense, rigid posture.

I spotted Jasper with Alice on his lap. She was animatedly waving her hands around to punctuate whatever had her so excited. Emmett was charming a waitress who was bent over the table to offer up a nice view of her tits. However, Bella was conspicuously absent.

"Eddy—"

"Don't call me that," I snapped at Emmett.

He rolled his eyes. I knew he just did that to get on my nerves. "This here is Veronica. Veronica, meet Edward. Don't call him Eddy, he hates that." Emmett winked at me as he grabbed the waitress around the waist and squeezed.

"Where's Bella?" Not that I thought she wasn't safe here. We were on good terms with the bouncer and all of the bartenders knew our group. Besides, Bella didn't drink at our shows.

Jasper and Alice shared a look that I couldn't quite read. They were already developing their own secret language. "She was talking to a guy," Alice answered with too much mirth in her voice.

"A guy," I repeated. It sounded weird and foreign. My fists clenched again.

Jasper sat up a little straighter. "Someone grabbed her attention. I guess she knew him. They walked toward the bar a minute ago."

Bella was fully capable of taking care of herself. She didn't need a babysitter looking over her shoulder in a bar. With a cop for a godfather, Punky was well versed in how to drop a man that offered her the wrong sort of attention. Nevertheless, running off with some random guy wasn't her style. Of course, it was only under the pretense of wanting a drink that I turned and headed for the bar. Not because I was checking up on her. Why would I?

I had to endure a new round of uninvited contact, but pushed through the sweaty bodies enough to scan the people surrounding the bar that spanned the entire expanse of the far side of the room. I was tall enough to can the tops of heads, but Punky would surely be swallowed in the mass. A group of four guys took their drinks from the bartender, making an opening for me to slip in. With my ink on display and a hard expression, I made myself off-putting enough that no one moved in too closely to encroach on my personal space.

Garrett spotted me quickly. After he passed off a few drinks and swiped a patron's card, he turned to the top shelf and pulled down a bottle of my preferred scotch. Three fingers over ice were passed to me swiftly. The band drank for free when we played. A nice perk.

"You see Bella?" I asked as I levered myself over the bar to put myself within hearing distance.

Garrett wiped his hands on a bar towel then slung it over his shoulder as he scanned down the bar. "She was with a guy a second ago. Don't know him."

"Hey, Cullen." Charlotte slid over as she popped the caps on four beers in a line, shoving them at a couple of guys next to me and taking their cash. I nodded a hello. "Garrett, Jane needs a hand with the ice machine. I'll cover you."

He left us, and as I slid my gaze down the bar, I still didn't spot Bella. She'd probably headed back to the table by now. Charlotte offered up the usual praise for our set, which I brushed off with a curt thanks. I couldn't feel good about such a shitty performance.

I swallowed a mouthful of whisky, feeling it burn my tongue as it slid down my throat. The warmth settled me all the way to the pit of my stomach. I slapped a couple dollars on the bar as a tip, turned to head back to the group, and promptly saw my drink knocked from my grasp. The glass of amber liquid splashed to the floor in a spectacular shatter.

Flying elbows and a wave of drunken weight that insisted in my direction immediately shoved me backward. Too many to count, several men were tangled in a brawl that had no clear division of loyalties between one side and the other. The crowd retreated, giving the men a wide berth as they tangled and threw punches. I was more or less trapped, but content to lean against the bar and wait it out. Charlotte hopped on top of the bar with a baseball bat, yelling at the men to take it outside. All around us, people yelled and chanted, egging on the free show.

Seeing an opening to slip by as three men pinned two others back, apparently separating the instigators, I moved to push my way back toward our table. Fights weren't all that uncommon at The Nest.

Before I passed through the human barricade of bystanders, I was caught with an elbow to my left eye. From that moment forward, I plead the Fifth.

By the time Emmett had me in a headlock and blood dripped from my hand, Bella was there with a disapproving scowl. Whatever. He started it, whoever he was. And I never did get to finish my scotch. But I found Punky.


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **I'm feeling the love, thank you. And again, thanks for **The Lemonade Stand** for adding this story to The Nursery. Oh, and this weekend in my birthday. I'm accepting gifts in the form of recs and reviews. :-)

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**Chapter 8: Enemy Territory**

**"Go find a tree if you're going to start a pissing contest."**

I had taken a lot for granted lately, like most people finding my tattoos and piercings as an unfriendly deterrent; rarely getting hit in the face; easily getting a drink in a bar; Bella's anti-social tendencies, and waking up to a naked woman.

I winced while scrubbing my hands over my eyes. It took a few minutes of squinting against the sunlight pouring into my bedroom to fully recall the events of the previous night. The black eye was a firm reminder.

I woke up alone, clean from a shower last night, short one rhythm guitarist, and dreading the wrath of Punky. She wouldn't go so far as to hand down a lecture about fighting. No, she'd just offer up a few admonishing quips that would do the trick of deflating my ego. I maintain, however, that I deserved some leniency for having not actually started the fight. I was completely justified in defending myself. Arguably, I probably should have stopped before Emmett had to put me in a chokehold to pull me off the other guy.

Already my morning routine had been disrupted. I'd slept later than usual and didn't have to bother with sending a bed buddy on her merry way. Such inconsistencies agitated me. I preferred order and organization—the current state of my laundry piles not withstanding. Routine and consistency gave me a sense of stability that I thrived on. Since my life began with the Cullens, I'd detested chaos. And it didn't much care for me either.

Just to inject some sense of normalcy into my morning, I took another shower, rubbed one out, and went about the other essential tasks of starting the day. By the time I was respectably clean, brushed, and dressed, I really had no further excuse to avoid the trip downstairs.

It wasn't unheard of that I'd come home along from a gig, but it was rare. Ordinarily it could be considered a good thing that I would not be subjected to Punky's glare and finger salute on my way to the kitchen, but last night's escapades would go over far worse than keeping her up after bedtime.

Fuck. I was seriously pacing my room afraid of a girl half my size. Man up, Cullen.

Half way down the stairs I realized that it wasn't the television making noise. There were voices other than Bella's emanating from the living room—and the kitchen. Not normal.

At the landing, I found Bella and Alice on the couch. Having clearly heard me descending the stairs, each proudly held up seven and eight fingers respectively. Alice looked entirely too chipper in her cut-off Blondie T-shirt. Even Bella was sporting more of a smile than I expected.

"You didn't hear a peep out of my room last night," I responded irritably. It was just too damn early to deal with the little pixie vixen. "What's with the score?"

"This," Alice extended her fingers toward me, "is for the shiner. It's a nice piece of work."

"Is higher better or worse?" Just to be clear. Not that I was amused.

"Better for us," she smirked. "Worse for you."

"Wonderful." I ran my hand through my hair. "Why are you here?"

"We're going to the beach," Bella informed me as she slid her sketchbook off her lap. Sure enough, I could see the strings of her blue bikini top exposed by her off-the-shoulder T-shirt. Goddamn. "And if you want breakfast, you better hurry. Emmett and Jasper have been in there for a while."

Perfect. I didn't finish one drink last night, I didn't get laid, and now I'd have to fight for my meal. Fucking brilliant. When had the inmates taken over the asylum?

"You're invited," Alice called after me as I turned and headed for the kitchen. I had assumed as much, but her comment indicated that perhaps that assumption was premature.

I couldn't be too upset at waking up to a full house. After all, our friends did provide a distraction. If all Bella would subject me to was a score for my black eye, I'd count that as getting off light.

Sure enough, however, I'd barely been saved scraps from breakfast. Emmett and Jasper were sitting at the bar polishing off the last of Bella's cooking. That shit pissed me off.

"Thanks for cleaning me out, assholes." I grabbed the last piece of toast off Emmett's plate, to which he whimpered like a kicked puppy, and took the bowl of fruit salad that sat in front of Jasper. At least they knew better than to sit in my spot. Certain customs had to be observed for my sanity. I'd sat on that same damn stool since I was eight.

"Dude, the girls made us wait for an hour." Emmett showed not one bit of remorse, but he did look a little too longingly at the slice of toast as I ate. The guy was creepy about food. "It was either start without you or wake you up."

"You two have more food in the house than most small military outpost. Just make something else," Jasper flippantly suggested.

I grumbled a 'fuck you' and quickly polished off the two strawberries and three pieces of cantaloupe I'd been left to consume. Granted, Bella and I were a little weird about food, but for good reason. In the foster home where we'd met, there were four other kids ranging in age from nine to fifteen. We had to throw elbows at the table for our little rations, and even those were small. Some days we wouldn't have breakfast at all. Now that Bella and I didn't have to worry about money or someone else stealing our food out from under us, I bought too much and she cooked too much. But we never wasted a damn crumb.

Anyway, I sucked at cooking. The best I could do was making a bowl of cereal. But after a few years of Bella's cooking, a dry bowl of flakes or puffs held no appeal. She'd conditioned me. It wasn't my fault my stomach had certain expectations.

"Stop moping." I froze when Bella's voice whispered into my ear from behind me. I hadn't heard her sneak up. "Like I'd let you starve." She came around the bar and opened the oven, pulling out a large plate covered in tinfoil, which she promptly set in front of me. I might have taken my time watching her bend over in those little shorts.

"What's this for?" I asked a little stunned and confused. Why was she being nice?

"Eating," Punky answered with a condescending eye roll. Snarky little thing. She pulled the tinfoil off to reveal an omelet with bacon and a biscuit. Sweet mother of breakfasts. "Hurry up. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

Bella was in a good mood. She wasn't scowling or pissy or even her flatly indifferent self. That both pleased and terrified me. For one, I knew I wasn't the source of her improved disposition. Then who was? Secondly, it felt like the feast before the long walk down the Green Mile. If Bella was going out of her way to be nice to me, nothing good could come of it.

xXx

A genuinely sunny day, even in summer, was rare for our area. When Mother Nature graced us with such optimal weather, we took advantage of the fleeting moment. La Push sat on the Quileute reservation and was a decent spot for surfing. Charlie and my parents used to take Bella and I down here when we were kids, and it was a source of fond memories. In short, by the time we had Emmett's SUV unloaded and on our way down to the water, I was pleased with today's break in routine.

Naturally, such good fortune couldn't last. Just as I finished pulling on my wetsuit—the water was still fucking cold—my fears were confirmed. I'd never gone to blows wearing a glorified spandex unitard, but there had to be a first for everything.

Five guys, each one stacked and taller than the next, walked purposefully in my direction. I recognized the one in the middle as the guy whose face I'd demolished last night. Although, on closer inspection in the light of day, I noticed he didn't look nearly as torn up as I would have expected. Some bruises and a cut on his lip, but not too bad. Well damn.

The girls were still meticulously laying out their towels and unfolding the beach chairs while Emmett and Jasper waxed their boards. I smacked Em on the shoulder, alerting him. I was never one to call in reinforcements to handle my mess, but not even I was so arrogant as to take on five guys alone. It hadn't occurred to me last night in the heat of the moment and darkness of the bar, but I'd clearly crossed a group of locals, not just random frat boys too blitzed out of their minds to remember my face in the morning. Emmett stood, nudged Jasper, and took up rank beside me.

I wasn't sure what to make of it, but the one in the middle had a slight smile. I guess he was looking forward to our reunion. I briefly contemplated taking my lip ring out, but figured that'd be interpreted as instigation. Maybe they'd be content to kick us off the beach and leave it at that. Ordinarily I wouldn't back down so easily, but we were on their land. Couldn't really complain about that.

"Jake, hey!"

I glanced behind me to see Punky greet the incoming menace. In her tiny shorts, she jogged past me—actually shoving by my shoulder like I was rude for taking up space—and right into the waiting arms of the shirtless guy who offered her a huge smile. He picked her up, damn near squeezed the life out of her, and set her back on her feet without a glance at me. His posse, on the other hand, stared us down with a hard glare.

I hated him instantly. I hated that he could touch her. I hated that he made her smile more brightly than I'd seen in a very long time. Most of all, I hated that he'd weaseled his way into her life without my notice. Who the fuck was this dickhead?

"I'm glad you made it," Bella greeted him sincerely. And that just drove the knife a little deeper. I couldn't remember the last time she'd looked happy to see me. Well, I could, but I preferred not to think about it.

"Of course. I said I would, didn't I?" Ah, he speaks. The guy was about my height but built like Emmett. The fact that I'd clearly come out better off for last night's scuffle did inflate my pride just a little. "Bella, this is Jared and Embry," he gestured to the two on the left. "And you know Paul and Quil," he added.

"Really? Refresh my memory. I can't seem to place your faces." I recognized her sarcastic tone as Punky put one hand on her hip to appraise the two on Jake's right. For some reason, the others thought that was funny.

"Bella?" She turned to look at me, her smile faltering to a scowl. "What's the deal?" To say I felt betrayed was an understatement. She was blatantly fraternizing with the enemy here.

"You," she pointed, and then walked that stiff finger over to poke at my chest, "owe Jake an apology."

"The fuck?" I glanced up at the smug expression of Jake and his friends. Oh hell no. "I told you, I caught an elbow to the face for just trying to get a drink. I didn't start shit."

"That was an accident," she snapped. Her dark eyes narrowed. I might have been more put off if I didn't find her temper so damn adorable. "But what you did was way out of line."

"Don't sweat it," Jake interjected casually, that toothy smile irking me. "It was just a misunderstanding, Bella. No harm done."

"Yeah," Jared chimed in. "We can't take Paul anywhere." He and Paul traded elbow shots to the ribs that turned into a full-on brawl in the sand.

Jake walked over, all smiles and calm, and stuck out his hand. "Truce, man. No hard feelings."

Well fuck. Now I was the asshole if I didn't play nice. And Bella's sharp expression told me she'd make my life hell if I didn't accept. Steeling myself to the taste of my pride going down my throat, I took his hand and shook it. He squeezed hard and I squeezed harder. And on and on…

"Alright girls. You're both pretty," Alice remarked mockingly. "Go find a tree if you're going to start a pissing contest."

I dropped his hand. Bella went through the introductions, but I'd effectively tuned it all out as I returned to waxing my board. I should have stayed in bed.

When I was finished with the board, I didn't wait for Em and Jasper before heading toward the water. At this point, I preferred solitude. Bella, apparently, wouldn't let me off that easily.

"Hey," she called after me. With a sigh, I stopped and waited for her to catch up. "Jake was polite enough to let it go, so you be nice to him."

"Sure. Whatever." I didn't meet her eyes, just stared at the waiting tide. "You could have mentioned we'd have company. For that matter, what's with you picking up the whole tribe at a bar?"

"Are you serious?" Her voice hit an irritated octave. "Fuck you, Edward. You drag random skanks home but I can't hang out with my friends?"

"What friends? You've known him for a few hours."

"A few hours? That's Billy's son, jackass." She shoved at my chest, which woke me up.

"Billy?" I was totally lost.

"Black," she answered impatiently. "That's Jacob Black, his cousin, and their friends. He recognized me at The Nest and we started talking. The fight," she rolled her eyes in disapproval, "was because Paul hit on the wrong guy's girlfriend. Jake and Embry were just trying to break it up."

I looked over Bella's shoulder at the guys throwing a football down the beach. I vaguely remembered the name, but the Jacob Black I had known was a short, scrawny kid with long hair, two years younger than Bella and I. Charlie was friends with some of the men from the tribe, but their kids went to school on the reservation, so I had only interacted with them a few times growing up. The six-foot-three guy with biceps on his biceps looked nothing like the child I remembered. Some time between middle school and high school, I recalled that he'd gone to live with his mother in Oregon or Alaska or something. I guess he was back.

"You coming, Edward?" Emmett and Jasper jogged past us, tossing down their boards to paddle out.

"Sorry," I shrugged with one shoulder. "The name doesn't click." I tucked my board under my shoulder and left her there.

"You're such as ass," she yelled after me. Couldn't argue with that.


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: Surprise! Another update.**

* * *

**Chapter 9: I fucked up.**

**"Because I wasn't a complete tool, I had a pulse and a raging hard-on, I did as the lady commanded."**

"I know a guy," Emmett commented beside me. I sat upright on my board, drifting beyond the breakers as the swells rolled beneath us. My attention was fixed on the shore. "I could bring him by next week to jam. You know, feel him out as a replacement for Ty."

"Sure," I mumbled, not really listening.

Bella had her shirt off, her pale skin glowing white against the fabric of her dark jean shorts and sapphire bikini top. It had been a while since we'd made it out to the beach or any other occasion that made it acceptable for her to wear so little clothing. I hadn't seen so much skin in a very long time.

"He's played with a few local bands, mostly alternative and punk, and he's got descent chops."

"Great," I nodded disinterestedly. Bella and Alice were playing football with Jake and his followers. Of course they kept throwing the ball to the girls, if only to have an excuse to grab at them. Motherfuckers.

"But he's only got one arm, so he strums with his toes."

"That's cool." My fists clenched the sides of the board as Jake wrapped his arms around Bella from behind and hauled her off her feet. I could hear her laughter all the way from the shore, and it sliced like a blade, my entrails spilling out. It had been years since she'd let me hug her.

"Fucking-a, Edward. Take the creeper meter down a notch." Emmett splashed a bear claw full of water at me. Fucking child.

"Damn it, Em." I wiped he salt out of my eyes, snarling at his stupid grin. "Grow up."

"Says the guy that left his balls in Bella's purse," he laughed.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Really? You haven't been seething over Jake for the last hour?" Jasper raised an eyebrow. Cocky bastard. "Surfing actually requires you to chase a wave, not just sit on an expensive pool float."

"So it doesn't bother you, Jazz? Those ruddy puppies are manhandling our girls and it doesn't piss you off?"

"Ah, he said it!" Emmett smacked another handful of water at me.

"Goddamnit," I growled. "Quit doing that. Said what?"

"You called Bella your girl," he smiled triumphantly. "Not 'the girls,' your girl."

"So what? I'm not arguing semantics. I've known her since we were practically in diapers. She lives in my house. And she sure as fuck doesn't belong to that pack of mutts."

"Give him a break," Jasper replied conspiratorially. He had that goading tone in his voice. "Edward means that Bella is like family. You know, a sister."

"Punky is sure as fuck not my sister."

"Then go piss a circle around her if you want to claim your territory," Jasper shot back. "Or, I don't know, ask her out like a normal person. Shit or get off the pot, Cullen. That girl is prime, and it's only because most people are dumb enough to fear you that no one's gotten close yet."

"First of all, fuck you. And if you keep it up, I'm tossing your bass of my balcony."

What was that supposed to mean? It wasn't as though Emmett and Jasper didn't know our history. Why would they even bring it up? I wasn't blind and I wasn't dead. Bella was gorgeous, funny when she wanted to be, a total pain in my ass, snarky, smart, talented. Yes, I knew she was a keeper. But I'd lost her already. There was no retracing my steps down that road.

"Edward, for some stupid reason, we actually give a fuck about you." Japer's words didn't match the sincerity on his face. "If you don't hurry up and figure out a way to fix this thing with you and Bella, you are going to regret it for the rest of your life. No one gets over a girl like that."

"It's been five years, bro. She hasn't run off yet," Emmett added softly. "Don't you think that means something?"

"I'm not listening to this." And with that, I paddled after a swell.

xXx

I deserved a fucking medal. At least a chip like they hand out at AA. The last time I'd seen a guy with his grubby paws all over Bella, my brain had shorted out completely.

Mike Fucking Newton.

That name still got my back up. It was because I'd broken his nose at a spring break party junior year of high school that I'd been sent to anger management. Not that Charlie actually arrested me for assault and battery. When he'd found that I'd only slugged Mike because he had practically felt up his goddaughter, I was the conquering hero returned from war. It was my parents who had decided that was the last straw. I might have had a few early run-ins while attempting to adapt. I'd been homeschooled until freshman year.

Mike Fucking Newton and his wandering fucking hands.

He hosted a party for the entire junior class on the last day of the semester. At the time, Bella and I were still firmly embedded in the social circle of our tiny high school. Actually, back then Bella had been the center of attention. So we went to this party, I was throwing darts on the back patio with Emmett and Jasper, and I just happened to glance over my shoulder to where I'd last seen Bella. That's when my brain came to a complete grinding halt.

Mike Goddamn Punkyfucker Newton had his arm around Bella, shoving a drink at her, and grabbing her ass.

Total system crash of all rational thought.

I tore ass through the house and decked the guy. Broke his nose in one shot.

**FIVE YEARS AGO**

"Edward! What the hell? He's bleeding." Bella yanked on my arm, but I was too far gone to listen.

"Keep your fucking hands off her, you sonofabitch. I swear I'll break your fucking jaw if you ever—"

Emmett and Jasper grabbed me, one of their arms wrapped around my neck. "Back off, man. Let's go. Leave it."

"Try me, asshole. You little shit," I yelled toward Mike as Tyler shoved some paper towels at his face.

"Shut it, Edward. It's done. We're leaving." Emmett pushed me toward the front door. He outweighed me by about thirty pounds, so I didn't have much of a choice.

Once outside, he kept his arm around my neck until we hit the curb by my car. "Can I let you go? Or am I going to have to tackle you to the ground?"

"I'm fine," I snarled. "Get off me."

"Say it nicely," he teased. Jerk.

"Damn it, Em. I'm fine. Okay?"

He released me, smiling like a kid on Christmas. "That was badass, bro. You dropped him with one shot. Props, man."

"Are you kidding me?" Bella shouted. Loud. "What do you think his parents are going to say when they get home? Christ, Edward. What about Charlie?"

"What? You rather I leave you in there to get groped by that date rapist? He was shoving a drink in your face. Where did you expect him to take it next?"

"It was soda, Edward. You're acting ridiculous."

"He touched you," I roared at her. Jasper stepped in front of me, shoving me back against the side of my car. "He grabbed you. I won't put up with that."

"And I could have taken care of it myself, you idiot. You didn't have to hit him." While Jasper held me back—I'd never lay a finger on Bella or any girl—Bella screamed at with me with all her kitten fury. Damn she was cute.

"It felt good," I shrugged.

Emmett laughed. Jasper snickered, though he tried to hold it in. I couldn't help it. The adrenaline and endorphins were running hot and heavy through my veins. I laughed and relaxed my posture.

"Boys are so stupid," Bella huffed. "Seriously. You're all dumbasses."

"Aww come on, Punky. You can't stay mad at me." I moved toward her and wrapped my arms around her waist to pull her into a hug. "I was just trying to protect you. Me man. Me take care of little girl."

"Shut up, stupidhead." Bella pressed her cheek to my chest and hugged me tighter. "You're still going to be in deep trouble when Charlie finds out."

"Yeah right," Emmett scoffed. "After Charlie goes after Mike with his shotgun, he's buying Edward a beer."

"See?" I kissed the top of her head. "No worries. Come on, this party blows anyway. You ready to head home?"

"Sure."

But something had already changed in just those few short minutes. Bella and I had been best friends since day one. We were tight and we looked out for each other. I owed her everything for bringing me together with the Cullens. But inside that house, seeing another guy touch her in that way, it just broke open something inside me, and there was no way I was every going to close it up again.

Charlie worked crazy hours. We lived in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, which meant that even though there wasn't much crime that wasn't caused by a drunk, teenager, or wild animal, it was a small police force. When he couldn't be home at night—ever since we were little—Bella stayed at my house. Sometimes, since we'd gotten older, I'd just go sleep on the couch at her house. It made Charlie feel better that Bella wasn't left alone all the time, and I had an excuse to see her at night.

Until that party, we'd only ever been friends. Sure, closer than normal best friends, but still.

By the time we got to Bella's house, I'd been forgiven for going all caveman on her. I knew she understood the underlying reason for my violent response. Neither one of us would go anywhere near that subject.

I parked in Bella's usual spot in the driveway. Her truck had broken down again and was still in the shop. Not that she drove it much. I usually picked her up for school on my way. Though she had an inheritance from her birth parents, she refused to spend the money to get a new vehicle that didn't leak oil and stall out going uphill.

"You're staying, right?" Bella flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. It was only 11:00. Still early for a Friday night.

"Of course." I went to the DVD shelf and scanned through her collection. We'd seen almost every one of these at least three times. "Funny, scary, explosions, or sappy chick crap?"

"Umm…something Steven King. But not 'IT.' Anything but that one."

Bella was terrified of clowns ever since Charlie had made her watch it when she was 10. Not a great parenting move, but it wasn't like he really knew any better. Growing pains.

I pulled "The Shining" off the shelf. Last time we'd watched this was during a wicked blizzard. Just to pass the time, I'd chased Bella around the house with my best Jack impression for twenty minutes. I couldn't help it. She was so adorable when she was scared.

After making popcorn and pouring a couple sodas, Bella and I settled on the couch. I pulled the throw blanket off the back out of couch and tossed it at her. She swatted it down before it landed over her face.

"I'm not cold."

"That's for hiding under," I smirked. She stuck her tongue out at me.

"Whatever. You're still afraid of 'Cujo,' so don't start with me."

I hated that dog. But because Bella was too much fun to tease, I continued to rile the kitten all the way through the coming attractions and opening credits of the movie. It was dark in the house with all the lights off and the perfect environment for a horror flick.

"What? It's not weird at all that you're scared of Drew Barrymore," I teased her. "'Firestarter' was a scary movie. And "Never Been Kissed" was terrifying."

"Oh my god, shut up." Bella shoved at my face. Well, I couldn't let that stand.

I pinned her arms to her side and dragged her over my lap. She landed with her back against the arm of the couch, her legs draped over my thighs. "Behave," I scolded her.

"Shh. The movie's starting." I took the blanket, draped it over her legs and mine, and settled back to watch.

As expected, Bella jumped at every little scare. She had most of the blanket up to her neck with her tiny fingers gripping the edge for dear life. To her credit, however, she'd only covered her eyes three or four times in the first hour. The more she squirmed, the more my dick noticed how not terrible it felt to have her legs writhing in my lap. I worked to concentrate on the story and completely ignore the sensation. I was only running my fingertips back and forth down her legs to calm her down.

When Jack hacked through the door with his ax, Bella jumped again, grabbing my arm and burying her face in my shoulder. She had a tight grip.

"You're so predictable." I wrapped my arm around her back and pulled her closer. "You know it's coming, but you still get scared anyway."

"It's the anticipation," she argued. "I can't stand the waiting. It makes me nervous."

"Chicken," I teased. She smacked my chest. Again with the hitting. "Really, Bella, you never learn." I grabbed both her wrists and pinned them behind her back. "Be good," I scolded her playfully. "There are consequences for bad little girls who can't keep their hands to themselves."

Her lips twisted into a dangerous smirk. "I'm not afraid of you," she answered defiantly. My feisty little Punky.

My mouth pulled up in a crooked grin at her challenge. "Oh Punky. You really shouldn't have said that." In one hand, I held her wrists back. "Never tease a man who knows where all your ticklish places are." Specifically, her ribcage. Bella writhed and struggled to get away, laughing and threatening me with all manner of bodily harm, as I tormented her.

"I swear—Edward—you are—so dead!"

"Say you're sorry, Bella." I didn't let up, falling over her as he fell backward on the couch. "Just say you're sorry and I'll stop."

"Never!" She laughed uncontrollably despite herself. Then I saw stars.

Bella kneed me right in fucking balls. I groaned like only a man does when his sac is sent up into his stomach. I released Bella, collapsed on top of her, and grabbed my battered manhood. "Shit, Bells. Fuck."

"Oh no," she laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry. Crap. I didn't mean to." She kept laughing. Evil ball-crusher. "I'm sorry, Edward. Really."

I rolled over, pinning myself between her and the back of the couch. The fucking agony. "Stop laughing," I groaned again.

"I can't help it." She tried to turn toward me, but the movement made me flinch away from her. I was justifiably dick-shy now. That only made her laugh harder. "What can I do?"

Nothing, you vile woman. Or kiss it and make it better. But best that I not say that out loud. That was just a jerk move. "Nothing."

"Aww." Bella ran her hand through my hair and down the side of my face. My balls dropped again. Puberty hit me all over again. I took a deep breath through my nose. I inhaled her—all soft girly smell and warmth. Not quite so shy anymore. "I didn't mean it. It was accident. I'm sorry."

"It's fine." I caught my breath after a minute or so and regained my composure. Rather than move, I just closed my eyes and wrapped my arm around Bella's back. "You suck, you know that?"

"Bad Bella," she answered mockingly.

"Very bad little Punky." I tightened my grip around her back and tugged her an inch closer. The lengths of our bodies were aligned, and it hit me like a great revelation of the universe that she fit so nicely against my chest. "You should make it up to me."

I don't know what I expected her to say. I had no idea what she might do. But when Bella's soft, tender lips pressed to mine, I knew exactly what I wanted.

I kissed her back. No hesitation. Not even a second of apprehension. I took her bottom lip between mine and kissed her like she deserved. Firm, purposefully, and with complete devotion. Bella had always been my best friend, so why shouldn't I give her everything?

I licked across her bottom lip and she opened for me, inviting my tongue to explore her. She tasted so goddamn good, my dick twitched between us. Bella threw her leg over my hip and dug her fingers into my hair, holding my face to hers as she rolled over to straddle me. My hands found her hips and latched on, holding her on top of me as if I wouldn't continue to breath if she pulled away now.

Bella wasn't timid. She held me down like a woman on a mission, kissing me cross-eyed. I didn't want to scare her off, and I sure as hell didn't want to make her stop. Since I didn't know where I was allowed to touch her, I just kept my hands locked to her hips and let her have her happy way with me.

Of course, my dick couldn't ignore that her hot little center was firmly planted right on top of him. In seconds, I was sporting a raging hard-on that was determined to dig right through my jeans to get into hers. I tried to think about baseball or Emmett in a bikini, but nothing was enough to quiet the fuck-fantastic feeling of Bella on top of me.

"Touch me," she whispered against my lips. Bella ground her hips against my cock. I was so fucking done for. "Please, Edward."

I grabbed her ass and gave it a good squeeze, thrusting my hips up to meet her. Bella whimpered into my mouth. A more perfect sound had never been heard by a man's ears. Spurred on by her little noises, I worked my hands gently up her ribs. I hesitated a moment, just to make sure and give her time to say stop or slap me. But she didn't.

Tentatively, I stroked my thumbs under her breasts. I'd never felt a girl up before. It was fucking awesome.

I gave up trying to concentrate on kissing, letting Bella do as she pleased, and focused all my attention on feeling the pliable weight of her tits in my palms. Those things were fascinating, by the way. I experimented a little, molding her supple flesh to my hands and lifting their volume. I listened to every little breathy sound she made, figuring out what she liked. As I brushed my thumbs over the hidden nipples, Bella moaned and pressed down on my dick again. Fucking hell. They became hard and tight, even through her shirt and bra.

Abruptly, Bella sat up. Shit. I fucked up. Shit, shit, shit—

"Upstairs," she ordered. "Bed. Now."

Because I wasn't a complete tool, I had a pulse and a raging hard-on, I did as the lady commanded.

Bella and I lost our virginities that night. It was perfect. She was perfect. I'd always loved her. That night, I fell in love with her.

But even Bella couldn't stop the anxiety attack that followed. As I climaxed, my body was gripped with tension, not relief. Horrifying images flooded my mind. I felt sick as a cold tremor went down my spine. I wasn't in Bella's bed anymore, my head transported back to a darker, more terrifying place.

I panicked. I ran out on her in the middle of the night. Some time between my tires squealing in her driveway and morning, Bella's house had been robbed. Because I didn't have my shit together, Bella was alone when a drifter broke into the house. She woke up to the sound of glass breaking. But my Punky was smart. She knew how to protect herself. She pulled down the hatch to the attic in her bedroom, crawled up in the dark, and sat there for six hours. Alone.


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **I'm very happy to announce that this story has been listed on the weekly poll over at **The Lemonade Stand**. So, this is me shamelessly asking you to **go vote** for The Debt. Also, another huge thanks to **Nic**, **alliz**, **TLS**, and everyone who has rec'd this story. As always, thanks to all of my readers for your terrific comments and reviews. I love reading them all.

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**Chapter 10: The Raven**

**Everything was just fucking peachy. **

For a few brief moments, I'd experienced perfection. Making love to Bella, being inside her warmth while her little fingers gripped and clawed at my back, was the single greatest experience of my young life. Better than performing at Lincoln Center and far beyond the first time I picked up a guitar in Von's shop. What followed in the aftermath was the worst week of my life. And from that fallout, I have never recovered. A perfect storm of heartbreak and tragedy washed my foundation out from under me. The levee collapsed, the seawall was breached, and the once sturdy ground beneath my feet became a quicksand that pulled me into a debilitating darkness.

I spent most of my childhood in therapy. By seventeen, I thought I was doing well. My psychiatrist had not informed me, however, that my first consensual sexual experience would completely fuck with my head.

At five years old, while living in my third foster home, the man the state had charged with my care repeatedly molested me. And it was a brave little girl with big brown eyes who had finally freed me from that waking nightmare. Every night when he had finished with me, I'd gone to her room—just a tiny den without a door where Bella and the other two girls slept—and cried with her until I fell asleep. That loyal, courageous girl who'd been lucky enough to escape the hell unscathed was the one responsible for confessing the truth of my experience to Carlisle, which set him on the path to adopting me and putting that man in prison.

I was sitting in a long hallway of an office building when the Cullens came for me. I saw Esme first, and thought she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. She had kind brown eyes like Bella's, caramel hair in waves, and wore a soft blue sweater over a cream dress. She smiled at me when our eyes met. Crouching in front of me, she didn't hesitate to pull me to her chest and hug me before she even told me her name. My mother told me she loved me. It was the first time I'd ever heard anyone say that.

I was skittish of Carlisle. Terrified, actually. I hid behind Esme when she tried to introduce us. Then I saw my father cry. Tears welled in his bright blue eyes, slipping down his cheeks as he crouched in front of me. He kept his hands at his sides and spoke very gently. Carlisle told me that Bella had sent him. He said she'd told him that bad things had happened to me, and that he'd promised her he'd protect me. That when I came home with them, Bella would be waiting there with her new father.

A few hours later, when I arrived at the Cullen house for the first time, I saw Bella sitting with Charlie in the living room. I knew in that moment I was safe. She was my safe place.

Three years passed before I'd let Carlisle touch me at all. He cried the first time I gave him a hug. With Charlie, it took a bit longer. I might have been ten or eleven when I finally shook his hand. But the older I got, the easier it was to adjust to physical contact with men. Von and I bonded more easily. I was eight or nine the first time Carlisle brought me to the shop where he'd bought Esme's grand piano. I was a wide-eyed little boy, completely enamored with the instruments. Naturally, I was scared shitless of a big guy like Von, covered in tattoos.

But Von sensed there was something broken inside me. With a big smile on his face, he handed me a gold '72 Les Paul guitar. He told me the story of the man for whom the guitar was named, told me how he'd bought it off of some famous musician I'd never heard of, and that it was his favorite instrument in the whole world. He said that any time I wanted, I could come into the shop and he'd teach me how to play. Carlisle brought to the shop every Sunday, when I wasn't touring, for years.

I was scheduled to play a show in San Francisco during spring break of my junior year in high school. After learning what had happened to Bella after I'd left her, I was too overcome with guilt and remorse. The shame and embarrassment I felt immediately following the incident only compounded. I never called her. I never tried to explain. She knew what had happened to me in that foster home, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I'd been thinking of that man when I was making love to her. How does a seventeen-year-old boy utter those words to the first and only girl he's ever loved? How does a vulnerable teenage girl hear that after she's spread her legs and given up something so precious?

Three days of avoiding Bella was consumed with rehearsing for my show. Of course, my mother wouldn't let the matter drop. I'd confessed everything to her and my dad after Charlie had called to tell us how he'd found Bella the next morning after the robbery. She'd lied for me, telling Charlie that she'd sent me home early after we'd gotten into an argument over the fight at Mike's party. Charlie, of course, blamed Mike for the whole series of events. My parents—they already knew my deepest, darkest secret anyway—kept my confidence. They never breathed a word of it to Bella or her godfather, even as they watched me shut out my best friend.

Esme came to sit next to me at the piano bench. For a while, she just listened to me play. I adored the way she smiled and hummed long while my fingers danced over the keys. In those moments, I knew she was proud of me.

FIVE YEARS AGO

"That's a beautiful song," she stated in her honey voice that was gentle and soothing. "Will you play it this weekend?"

"No," I shook my head and transitioned the second movement into a new composition I'd been tinkering with. My mom did not miss the change. "That's Bella's song. I don't play it for the public."

My mom was quiet for a moment. She set her right hand to the keys beside me, improvising as I continued to play. "She called again this afternoon. She's come to see you twice this week while you've hidden in here."

I struck an unpleasant chord, but kept on moving as if I hadn't noticed. "I can't," I told her again. "You don't understand—"

"You're absolutely right, Edward. I can't possibly understand. And neither can Bella. But she loves you, she wants to be there for you, and I know she'll forgive whatever it is you think is unforgivable."

"It isn't about forgiveness," I sighed tiredly. I'd been at this for hours, but it was the topic that had me exhausted. As if Bella wasn't on my mind every moment. "I'm broken. I'm never going to run right again. I know she loves me, and that she'd just wait around for me to figure my shit out, but she shouldn't. She went back for me and could have screwed up her chance at a family because of it. I'm not letting her come back for me anymore. She should just move on."

"Could you? Will you just move on from your best friend?"

"No." Bella was it for me. She always had been. "But if I wait it out long enough, she'll learn to hate me. It'll be better that way."

For two more hours, my mom sat with me as I gave up rehearsing and just let my mind wander while the two of us improvised together. It was a sort of pastime of ours. My mom would start a verse, I'd come in next to her, and on and on. She would never abandon the cause of pulling me out of my funk of depression and masochism, but Esme knew when to push and when to retreat. Bella had always been my creative muse—her song was the first I'd ever composed on the piano—but my mother was my chief motivation in music.

She died of a brain aneurism that afternoon during Rachmaninoff's Third; collapsed across my lap with blood trickling out of her nose while her pained, vacant eyes stared up at me. And so I'd lost the only two women I'd ever loved. The only two who'd ever loved me.

For a month Bella spent more time at my house than she did at her own. She shoved food at my father and I and cleaned up the house, caring for two men who'd lost the will and energy to care for themselves. It got to the point that Bella couldn't sleep at Charlie's anymore. She'd have nightmares or jump at the slightest sound. We had a spare bedroom, so Carlisle invited her to stay with us as often as she liked. By senior year, she was living with us full-time.

Upon graduation, Bella announced she wouldn't attend college. My father had accepted a job in New York and I was set to attend Columbia. Though she wouldn't say it aloud, we all knew that Bella was too afraid to go back to Charlie's house while attending school. Moving into a dorm in the city with a strange roommate was out of the question. That day I sent a letter declining my acceptance to Columbia and took the offer from the state university.

Bella was going to attend college if I had to drag her there myself. Under no circumstances would I let that night ruin her chance at a future. So I stayed behind, Bella continued to live in my house, and we existed under an excruciating agreement to never speak of that night again.

Everything was just fucking peachy.


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **First off, go read **Rare Purity**. It was my first fic and is now going back up. Rewritten and revived. The story of its disappearance is in the story notes. Mostly canon with **vamps and wolves**. Very **NSFW**.

I've started a **tumblr**. We'll see how long that lasts. You can find the link in my profile. I'll be posting teasers of upcoming chapters for all of my stories. As always, **The Lemonade Stand** ladies are awesome. Special thanks to ** allthingsHHH** on Twitter, as well as ** MariahajilE **and everyone else who has rec'd this story and sent me great words of encouragement. I'm such a praise whore. Love you all.I've been so humbled by the response to this story. Thank you all so much. And a huge thanks to **Hadley Hemingway. **You've been so helpful. Likewise, I am grateful to have readers like **jansails** who invest so much in loyally reading my stories. Yes, even when you nail my ass down. :-) I really do take your comments to heart and consider them when evolving these characters through the plot.

So, on that note… Keep the reviews and comments coming. Tell me what you think of Bella and Edward as more is revealed. I enjoy your insights.

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**Chapter 11: Lost Cause**

**I'd never heard a less sincere invitation.**

Upon returning home from the beach, I rid our house of guests. I'd had about all I could stand of Emmett and Jasper offering up their unsolicited advice, and Alice was just a fucking handful that never shut up. I liked her just fine—in small doses. Besides, Bella had already cooked one meal for the mooching crew. No need to overburden her and take advantage of her generosity.

We ate in amicable silence for the most part, occasionally exchanging conversation of our schedules for the upcoming week and small talk about classes. After helping Bella clean up the kitchen, I sequestered myself in the garage for a while to work on a few songs. But with images of Jacob with his hands all over my Punky, I couldn't concentrate. I gave up, walking inside to find Bella in the living room.

"What are you watching?" I asked as I poured myself onto the couch.

Even in the living room we had designated seats. Me on the far right side of the couch, Bella on the left huddled next to the armrest. She was wearing my TOOL sweater that was so long on her shorter body that it covered the little shorts she probably had on. All I saw were her bare legs.

"Top Chef on DVR. I missed all of last season," she answered as she paused the playback, "so I'm marathoning."

Not my first choice, but whatever. I settled back with my bottle of water and propped my bare feet up on the coffee table. Bella watched me as I took a sip.

"Did you want something to drink?"

"Do you really not remember Jake, or were you just being an ass?" She leaned one elbow against the armrest and shot me that I-see-through-your-bullshit look. I don't know why I ever bothered trying to lie to her.

"Maybe I remember him a little," I shrugged. I stared at the frozen image of a knife fileting a pink slab of salmon on the TV. "It was a long time ago. I don't know."

"Thought so," she muttered under her breath. She held out the remote and pressed play, letting the television fill the inevitable gap in our stilted conversation.

"He moved away when we were kids, right? Do you even remember him that well?"

"You were gone a lot," she answered as if that was a suitable explanation.

"And?"

"And I had other friends, you know." Ouch. "Charlie's close with Billy and Harry. He used to bring me around the reservation when I was younger and you were off performing. Actually," she turned to level me with a poignant tone, "he was my closest friend…next to you."

I brought this on myself. I knew I wasn't going to hear anything good in following this line of questioning. Despite that her admission made my stomach sink, I had to know who she was spending her time with. It wasn't that I really got much of a say in her social life—she hadn't had much of one in a few years—but I did have the right to at least check out the guys circling around her. Charlie would expect as much.

"I didn't know," was all I gave in response. I kept my eyes diligently trained on the television.

"He invited Charlie and I over to Billy's for dinner on Wednesday." Her statement hung in the air while Tom Colicchio dissected a contestant's poorly constructed amuse-bouche. "You can come too, if you want."

I'd never heard a less sincere invitation. "Rehearsal," I answered by way of an excuse. "The guys and I will order a pizza." I chanced a glance at Bella, but she wasn't looking at me. "Just don't let them talk you into cooking for the whole tribe."

"Yeah, well, next time he shows up at the bar, try not to hit him."

Next time. Brilliant. "Scout's honor." I held a salute. I'm pretty sure it was the wrong one. Bella tossed a pillow at me, which I caught and tucked under my arm. Best to keep the weapons out of reach. Punky was the violent sort.

xXx

"Fuck it," Emmett shouted too loudly as we crashed in the greenroom after our set. He was always half deaf after a show. "We don't need a forth guy. We killed it tonight."

We'd auditioned two replacements for Tyler, but no one we could all agree on. Honestly, neither was nearly as good as Ty. As a result, we'd gone on as a trio tonight. Admittedly, we'd been on point. However, I preferred having a rhythm guitarist to fill out the sound.

"There's still that guy from my econ class," Jasper replied as he took a swig of water and wiped a towel over his face. "And, uh, what's his face. Ben's old roommate or whoever."

"I want to keep looking." I collapsed back into the scratchy brown couch and stretched my arms along the back. My bare chest was still coated in sweat. It always took an hour or so for my body to come down from the performance high. We exerted a lot of energy up there. Besides, those stage lights were hot as fuck. "It's only been a couple weeks. Von said he'd keep an eye out at the shop and drop a word on a few of the regulars in there. Let's see what comes of it."

"I'm getting used to splitting the cash three ways." Emmett pulled out a bottle of Jack from his bag and tipped it back to his lips. He passed it to Jasper and then me. "It's a nice little bump in my income."

There was a knock on the door. Emmett reached over to grab the handle and opened it. Alice, clad in black and electric blue from head to toe pranced her happy ass inside and straight onto Jasper's lap.

"Eww," she recoiled when he wrapped his arms around her waist. "You're all sweaty and gross." He wound his arms tighter around her as she squirmed, rubbing his wet hair all over her shirt. "You're disgusting," she whined. Alice giggled and pushed his head away.

"Just marking my territory," Jasper smiled at her. He shot a meaningful glance my way, which I chose to ignore. Asshat.

"On that note," Emmett stood up and pulled a fresh shirt out of his bag.

"Oh, Em. There's someone I want you to meet." Alice stood up, all but skipping to grab Emmett's arm. "She's just your type. But I'm warning you now. She hates your music. So…maybe skip over that part of the conversation. She likes cars, she's blonde, and is definitely a 10."

"Does she have a nice rack?"

Alice smacked his arm, tilting her head back to glare at him. "Don't be a pig. I have a class with her, so don't embarrass me."

"You're impossible to embarrass," I remarked.

Alice smiled and winked at me. "True. But still. At least don't hump her leg. And try to make eye contact, okay?"

"Do I do that?" Emmett looked between Jasper and I. "I've never humped a girl's leg in a bar, right? I've clubbed a few over the head and dragged them back to my hut. But I'm not a canine."

"I regret this already," Alice groaned as she tugged him out. "I don't know why I bother."

"You better get a handle on that one," I nodded at Jasper. "I draw the line at getting setup by your girlfriend."

"You don't have to worry about that." Jasper pulled off his sweaty shirt and slipped on a clean one. "She thinks you're a lost cause." He turned and left me standing there, shutting the door behind him.

Yeah, I guess they both had a point.

xXx

Damn this chick was loud. And bossy. "Harder. Faster. Spank me," she kept demanding between incoherent mewling. Redheads were always screamers.

With her pale, freckled ass bent over the side of my bed, I reached to the nightstand and grabbed for the stereo remote. I turned up the volume on A Perfect Circle and tried to drown her out. My mind was on anything but sex. Sure, her wet little cunt felt fantastic as she gripped my cock, the sensation of her ass smacking against my pelvis. I could aesthetically appreciate the narrow swell of her back and the attractive line of her spine spread out before me. I was also having trouble standing upright and my vision was blurry in the dark.

In my head, I was composing an acoustic melody that had been plaguing me recently.

I was getting close to coming. My thighs trembled a little, my balls tightened. I forced myself to withhold climax as I slipped my fingers through her slit and found her swollen clit, circling the sensitive nub as she moaned. I composed the bridge, hearing the chords clearly. With my other hand, I reached beneath her to pinch and tease one nipple. She bucked against me, riding my cock in search of her orgasm.

Her pussy tightened and fluttered around me, milking my cock as she cried out incoherently. I wasn't sure she even knew my name. I'd been well passed buzzed and on my way to blackout drunk by the time I slipped into her car. I might not have given her my name—or at least not the right one. Fuck if I knew.

She panted. Her body went limp over my bed, muscles shuddering through the last spasms of her climax. I withdrew from her—rock hard and throbbing for release—and helped her crawl fully onto the bed. I grabbed a fresh damp cloth from my bathroom, cleaned her up as she caught her breath, her eyes closed and body sated.

"I'll be right back," I told her. She nodded, sliding under the blankets and rolling onto her side.

With the door shut behind me, I braced myself with one hand on the wall and pulled the condom off, throwing it in the trash. I kept the lights off—my head couldn't take the brightness. Fisting my shaft in my hand, I pumped slowly with a firm grip. Over the head, I spread the moisture dripping from the tip and massaged. With my eyes closed, I imagined a brunette on her knees, swallowing my cock between her soft, needy lips. Her long hair was delicate silk between my fingers as I gently held her head and slowly fucked her warm, wet mouth.

I picked her up, spreading her out for me on my bed. The wanton, needful look in her eyes beckoned me, begged me. I slid my body over hers; sucking on her swollen, pink nipples, biting as she dug her tiny fingers into my hair. I kissed and licked a path to her sweet little cunt, dragging my tongue through her dripping sex. She tasted so good—feminine, raw. Not sugar and fucking flowers, but woman and lust.

She called my name, urgent and demanding. At her command, I levered my body above hers, blanketing her, as I pried her pale thighs open for my entrance. I teased the engorged head of my cock against her pink flesh, coating myself in her moisture. When she whimpered my name again, throwing her head back in greedy frustration, I impaled her deep and sure. I sank into her hot channel with a groan of satisfaction.

My dick jerked in my hand, spurting streams into the wad of tissues. I clenched my eyes shut, forcing the fantasy to continue, attempting to drown out the unwanted images trying to force their way into the forefront. My free hand fisted against the bathroom wall. I discarded the tissues, hopefully hitting the trashcan, and counted back from fifty silently. I lost track at 37, and instead recited lyrics to the song still playing on my stereo.

My breathing was fast and desperate. My body was tense, despite my successful release. Every muscle was taut, my skin felt raw and anxious. Even the air from the vent above me was too much stimulation against my flesh. The crawling, disgusted, unnerving feeling persisted in agitating every inch of me.

After a few solid minutes, I splashed some water on my face, in my hair, and cleaned myself off. Rather than join the woman in bed, I tossed on a pair of jeans, turned off the stereo, and descended the stairs, retreating to the garage.

As was typical, I spent a few hours playing, writing, and generally distracting myself until the uneasy feeling subsided and I'd sufficiently worn out my brain. Besides, if I didn't get the song out of my head an on paper, it would pester me for days. At dawn, I returned to bed and silently slipped under the sheets opposite the sleeping woman with her red, curly hair scattered over one pillow. I set the alarm on my phone to go off in two hours, turned up the volume as loud as it would go, and drifted off to catch a little sleep.

I could hate myself tomorrow. For now, I'd gotten what I needed and had mostly staved off the worst of the panic. Every week, every month it became a little easier.


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**Story Notes:** At the suggestion of a reader, I have now listed this story as "angst" and added a warning to the first chapter. I will never describe sexual abuse or molestation of a child in detail-or at all for that matter. Not going to happen. It will be referred to in the general sense as it relates to the character's past, but that's it. _

**A/N: **I find it interesting and entertaining that this audience if so divided down the middle between viewing Edward as the whoring bad guy who is unforgivable, while the other side sees him as a damaged little boy. And reviews/comments are just as divided on Bella's personality and actions so far. I love it. Please keep the reviews coming.

As for **Rare Purity**, I am completely overhauling the story. Yep. Totally rewriting it. **New plot**. Starting with the next chapter (for those of you who are reading it for a second time) I will start taking this story in a new direction. Some scenes may stay essentially the same if they still fit, but others will be cut and replaced entirely. Hope you like where it leads.

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**Chapter 12: Wake Up**

**Not that I had a reason to put an ounce of faith in the tiny devil.**

I woke to a loud thwack as something hard smacked me on the forehead.

"Get up, jerkoff."

I knew that voice. I loathed that voice. Another thwack; this one to the bridge of my nose. I groaned, swatting at the air to no avail. Evil little elf.

"Get." Thwack. "Up." Thwack.

"Fucking hell, Alice. Lay off me. And get the fuck out of my room." I pulled a pillow over my face. I was naked under the sheets. Unless she wanted a show, she really needed to leave.

"No."

Fucking Christ! That little wench smacked my nuts right through the blanket with what now definitely felt like a rolled magazine. "Goddamnit," I hissed and clutched my junk as I rolled over. I hadn't gotten the full force of the attack, but still. That shit hurt. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I must not hit a girl. I must not hit a girl, I chanted silently.

"We need to talk. Now," she demanded impatiently. I felt the bed shift as she sat down on the edge. If I just kept my eyes closed, I could pretend she wasn't real, right?

"Where's..." I knew her name last night. I was pretty sure I did.

"She left an hour ago," Alice huffed. Well, at least that was taken care of.

"Why are you here?"

"Because Bella and I are going out. Honestly, Edward, I thought she was exaggerating. I didn't believe it was every weekend. But here you are."

That got my attention. I tossed the pillow aside and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I must have been out cold because I never heard the redhead get up or my alarm go off. Sure enough, there was Alice, glaring daggers at me from between the outlines thick eyeliner.

I sat up, taking care to keep my lower half covered. For good measure I put the pillow over my lap. "Bella? What did she say?"

"Oh," Alice rolled her eyes, "now you're interested?" Alice crossed her arms, seemingly contemplating my fate. "This needs to stop," she waved the rolled magazine over me condescendingly. "First off, it's gross. Secondly, it's gross! Third, I can't believe you'd do that to her."

"Hey," I snapped harshly. That was crossing the line. "You're way out of your depth here. Furthermore, this is my house and my room. Feel free to fuck off. I don't need your approval." What the fuck did she know? She'd only been hanging around for a couple weeks.

"I know you two have a seriously messed up relationship. I know you look at her like a sad puppy half the time. The other half you're just blatantly staring at her ass like you're going to drop to your knees and take a bite out of it," she said with smug amusement. "And here's the real kicker: She's looking at you too, asshole. While your up there singing, Bella is eye-fucking you until she's cross-eyed." She stopped, staring at me expectantly. "Shall I go on or are you getting a clear picture?"

"You're full of shit," I grumbled and ran my hands through my hair. I smelled terrible.

"No, Edward. I'm just the only person who cares enough to tell you the truth and not enough to worry about pissing you off. So suck on that."

She smacked me on the nose again to emphasize her point and then sauntered toward the door.

"That's not what you said to Jasper," I reminded her.

"Maybe I'm a sucker for a lost cause. Don't make a fool of me, Edward. I can be an ally. If," she emphasized, "you can get your shit together."

"I don't want your advice."

"No, you don't." Alice took a hard look at me. I couldn't read her expression as she thoroughly appraised me, but I got the impression she found me lacking on a fundamental level. That shit pissed me off. "But you should take it. Step one: try keeping it in your pants. You're this close," she held out her fingers an inch apart, "to losing her." With that, Alice sauntered out of my room and slammed the door behind her.

What the fuck just happened?

xXx

There was no trace of breakfast waiting for me downstairs. Not even an angrily discarded meal in the trashcan or a note saying, "Fend for yourself, dickhead." Nothing. Just a too-big and empty house. I didn't much care for that feeling at all. Even though I'd heard the girls leave after I'd gotten out of the shower, I still stopped at the landing at the bottom of the stairs and glanced at the living room—not expecting her to be there with her fingers up, but still sort of hoping she would be.

Fine. Whatever. This was better; Bella was out having fun with a girlfriend, doing girly shit, and I could be lazy on a Sunday morning in peace. Perfect.

Except that the house was too big and too quiet. And Punky hated girly shit. And I hadn't bothered to buy cereal the last time we'd gone shopping. I looked out the front windows and saw that Bella's car was gone. I didn't know if Alice had stayed the night or if they'd driven separately. I didn't know if that mattered.

As long as someone was still in the house, Bella didn't feel the need to perform her ritual when leaving. It was only at night before we went to bed or if we were both out of the house. It used to be that I would never have let Bella come home alone at night or be left to her own devices to lock up. One night during sophomore year, Bella and I had gotten into an argument about I don't know what. We both got angry, yelled at each other, but I remembered clearly how it ended.

"I'm not a child, Edward. Stop treating me like one," she yelled.

"I didn't say that," I shouted in exasperation, tugging at my hair. "Fuck, Bella. What do you want from me? I'm trying. Two hours ago you were manic to get back to the house and obsess over every goddamn lock again. You locked them ten fucking times."

"I know that!" She hurled her notebook at me, her face red. "I can't help it. You think I want to be like this? It's the best I can do."

"I'm not mad at you," I reiterated for the umpteenth damn time. "I don't mind. I'll drive you back and forth all damn day; follow you around the house for hours, so long as you want me to. I don't care. But I don't understand it when you throw a shit fit because I stay home to make sure we lock up at night."

"I can do this by myself." Bella stood up, coming toe-to-toe with me. For a second I thought she might slug me. "I don't need you to watch me like I'm some freak."

"You're not a freak," I yelled in her face, beyond the point of pissed off with her disparaging herself. "Fuck, who am I to say what's normal? Don't you dare put that on me. I'd never think any such thing, least of all about you."

She growled at me, turning to stomp off. "I'm not holding you back, Edward. Do whatever the fuck you want. Go out. Have fun. Just stop making me the excuse for not living your life."

And so I'd taken her at her word. One night a week I let her come home alone. She left the bar whenever she wanted after our show and I drove home by myself—until I didn't. Somewhere along the way I started drinking after the shows. And then I got drunk after shows. And then I let girls pick me up and show me a good time. I usually didn't remember—or chose to pretend as much.

On an empty stomach, I went to the garage. My sloppy scribbles of sheet music from the night before were on the floor next to the chair and music stand. I picked up my acoustic guitar and attempted to play the bits and pieces that I'd written, but it was complete garbage—nothing like the melody that had so easily composed itself last night.

As I strummed, Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3, partially tattooed to wind around my right forearm, stared back at me. I used to wake up at the crack of dawn like every morning was Christmas. I'd run down the stairs, push open the heavy soundproof door to the music room, and spend hours fiddling with her piano. At first it was just noise. One morning my mother—I took a deep breath and strummed louder—came in and sat quietly amused as I played total nonsense. But it wasn't nonsense to her. Something in the notes struck her. We sat at the piano all morning and well into afternoon as she attempted to teach me simple series of notes.

My leg started to bounce, making it harder to keep a steady rhythm as I strummed the guitar.

I learned to play "Chopsticks" in three days. The usual simple melodies and nursery rhymes were firmly within my repertoire in three months. I could reproduce nearly any song I heard by ear in the first year under Esme's instruction. And then I impressed my parents' friends at parties. It escalated and grew until I won state competitions against students twice my age. Julliard invited me, Harvard, Carnegie Hall, Lincoln Center. And it all went by so fast.

The first song I'd ever composed was a birthday present for Bella. I had thought about getting her something pretty, some kind of girly thing, but I didn't know what the hell chicks were supposed to like. Punky probably would have hated it anyway. My mom had suggested that I write her a song—something thoughtful, personal, and unique. A gift that only I could give to her. Esme was great like that.

I played the song that afternoon after we'd finished eating cake and her other friends had left with their parents. Charlie's house was tiny and not really set up for large gatherings. Even if he'd had a mansion, my mom would have insisted that we have the party at our house. She loved entertaining, cooking, and decorating the place for a special occasion. Even though I always found it annoying that malls started putting out Christmas shit before Halloween—earlier every year—my mother was the type to start decking the halls a week before thanksgiving. No one had decorated here, save for a little plastic tree, since my father moved to New York.

Bella cried when I finished the song. I was terrified as I searched her eyes and those of my parents. I thought I'd upset her. I thought she hated the song. For a few seconds I seriously considered running. But Bella insisted they were happy tears. That concept made not a damn lick of sense to me. She laughed, hugged me, and said she loved the song. She used to make me play it for her constantly while she hung around during my rehearsals. Well, she didn't make me. I'd have played her anything so long as she looked at me like I was hot shit.

I'd stopped strumming at some point. My fingers had the neck of my acoustic guitar in a death grip. My breathing was short and shallow. The imprint of the strings was red in my palm as I pried my hand free and set the instrument down. I walked out and closed the door, moving to the living room in search of the most mindless television show I could find. I saw Top Chef on the DVR and put it on. Fuck it.

Three hours in and Alice's words still plagued me. Not that I had a reason to put an ounce of faith in the tiny devil.


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **I just had to get this chapter out. So here you go. I have to admit, this story is putting me in a weird headspace. I'm not sure how that will impact my other WIPs, but I'm plugging along the best I can. This one is consuming me.

* * *

**Chapter 13: Birds of Prey**

**With a throbbing broken hand - no one would make me play piano for a while - I sat under Sam's gun and bled.**

To prove that I wasn't completely uncivilized, I spent a few hours whittling down my laundry pile. That task didn't require any actual work past starting the machine and switching out loads from the washer to the dryer, so I kept up the cleaning mode as I went over my room, bathroom, and the rest of the house. It was too damn big.

Some time between trying to figure out how to empty the vacuum bin and throwing the fucking thing across the room when I finally pried it loose, I realized that I was agitated, cranky. I'd had a temper tantrum over a fucking vacuum. Disgruntled and edgy, I cleaned up the dusty mess I'd made and looked out the front windows again.

It was late in the afternoon. We should have gone to the grocery store by now, though we weren't actually running low on anything essential. I should have spent some time working on my original jazz composition for class, but I just wasn't interested. Everything was out of sorts and it made me antsy.

Fuck this shit.

On my way out the door I sent a text to Emmett asking him to meet me at the pub near his apartment in the city. Reliably, he was good to go.

An hour later I arrived to find Em and Jasper finishing up a game of pool. I grabbed a beer from the bar and a round for the guys, taking up a stool at the table in the corner. The pub was a small place in a shitty part of town—not really college territory. On a Sunday afternoon only a few old guys occupied the bar, chain-smoking while watching soccer on the tiny TV on the wall.

The pleather cushions on the stools were all ripped and haphazardly kept together with duct tape. The felt on the tables was scratched and scuffed, and there wasn't a straight cue stick in the building. This place was a shitty dive and exactly perfect. No one bothered you, tried to make small talk, or generally gave a fuck who you were. I was pretty sure the owner wasn't exactly on good terms with the IRS either. They only served beer and only took cash.

Jasper scratched and sent his stripe in the pocket. "You're bad luck," he told me as he grabbed his beer from the table. "I was up three shots on Emmett before you showed up."

I smiled with a shrug. "That's a matter of perspective. Emmett's not complaining."

"Yeah. Come over here and rub my ball for luck," he snickered as he picked the cue ball out of the pocket and held it up. "Jazz owes me a new drum head if I win."

That was small-time by comparison. Emmett had never beaten Jasper at a game of pool. Not one single time since we were in high school. Jasper was a bit of a shark. He had that clean-cut look about him that suckered you in. But he'd bet high and run the table on just about anyone. Jasper had once put up the title to his truck against Emmett's Jeep. Naturally, Jazz would never con his best friend like that. He'd never collected on a single bet between the two. The stakes were just for Emmett's entertainment.

I winked at Emmett over the rim of my beer bottle, smirking. "Bring 'em over here handsome."

He laughed, grabbed his junk suggestively, and then missed his wide-open shot entirely. "Fuck."

"My bad. I didn't mean to get you all hot and bothered."

"Don't tease me," he pouted with an affected tone.

Emmett plopped down on the stool across from me and chugged almost half of the beer in one huge gulp. It was like his massively thick neck was just one big drain straight to his stomach. Jasper got up to take his shot, made it easily, and proceeded to sink one after another while Emmett hung his head with a groan.

"Hey, how'd it go with the blonde?" I asked Emmett. "The one Alice pushed on you."

I hadn't paid much attention to their interaction last night. Jacob and his buddies had shown up after our set—assholes probably did that on purpose so we didn't get a cut of their cover at the door—and stole Bella away. I'd spent the rest of the night with the redhead—seriously, what was her name?—who kept trying to shove her hand down the front of my pants.

Jasper sank the eight ball with a decisive thunk, winning the game. "She hates him."

"Already?" I took another swig of my beer. I'd be nursing this one. Drinking on Sunday wasn't my usual and I had a slight headache from last night. "Doesn't it usually take at least," I looked at Jasper quizzically, "four hours for a chick to decide you're a pervert?"

"Nah," Em grinned like an idiot. "Not that long. She insulted our music." I took that personally since I'd written the songs, but whatever. "She ragged on the Seahawks because apparently she's from California and the Raiders still count as a football team to some people. And she trashed on Betsy."

Wow. In such a short time, this chick that Alice had declared "perfect" for Emmett managed to disparage everything he held near and dear to his heart, including his Jeep Wrangler. That only served to reinforce my original assumption that the meddling know-it-all was full of shit.

"I think I'm in love," he barked through a laugh.

What the fuck?

"You lost me." I leaned back on my stool against the wall, looking to Jasper for a reasonable explanation. Emmett was the best kind of friend, but he had the emotional maturity of a dachshund.

"She's the future ex-Mrs. McCarty," he insisted. "Legs for days. Round ass. Great tits. Fuck, I got stiffy just looking at her lips. Really fuckable lips," he reiterated in a voice that was downright uncomfortable to hear. Jasper and I each slid a little father away for fear we'd get hit in the eye by a spontaneous discharge. Like I said: pervert.

"That makes no sense whatsoever," I challenged. "She hates everything about you. And she has shit taste in music." Because I just couldn't let that go.

"She hasn't met the best part." Emmett's eyebrows danced up and down his forehead. "She'll come around," he stated confidently as he leaned back and tucked his hands behind his head. "And it would be the perfect relationship. Since everything I say pisses her off, we just won't talk."

"Great plan," I agreed sarcastically. "Let me know how that goes."

"Alice already said she'd be coming back to The Nest next week. Either she's a closeted rock groupie or Rosalie is a glutton for punishment."

"I'll spank her if that's what she's into." Emmett was quick to answer. I didn't need to hear that.

"Speaking of Alice." I turned the conversation on Jasper. Rather than looking unaware—we both knew that wasn't the case—or offering me evenly a falsely contrite expression, Jasper just raised a smug eyebrow at the mention of his tiny terror. "I woke up naked with her this morning. You need to do a better job of putting your toys away at night."

There. He deserved that. And it was technically true. I was naked when she woke me up.

Jasper flipped me off and then chucked his empty beer bottle in the trashcan along the wall behind the pool table. "That girl does what she wants," he shrugged. "I'm just along for the ride."

For some reason, I kind of respected that. I'd never known Jasper to be the jealous type, I guess. I couldn't remember him ever getting into it over a girlfriend before. I couldn't even recall him every having a bad breakup. He'd break the news to a girl that it was over and by the end of the talk she'd be thanking him for his honesty and all that shit. He had some kind of Jedi mind trick that I really needed to learn.

I looked at Emmett, pausing for his inevitable joke. No? Okay. I thought "ride" was clearly within his sophomoric territory.

"At any rate, I'd consider it a favor if my personal life was not a topic of conversation with you two," I told Jasper with no little sincerity. "She busted into my room, smacked me around with a magazine, and crossed too far over my not-your-damn-business line."

"You know some guys pay for that kind of thing." Apparently Emmett was back from his brief sabbatical.

"Neat," I answered dryly.

Fact was, I didn't think it was funny. Her diatribe had been running laps around my head all day. I couldn't seem to concentrate on anything else without her irritating voice talking over my thoughts. I also couldn't get over the fact that Bella had apparently talked to her about the girls I brought home.

Maybe I shouldn't have sent Alice off so quickly. If she wanted to be an "ally" for whatever imaginary cause, I could have at least tested the theory by pumping her for information. But more likely she was just full of it and yapping up the wrong tree.

"Trust me," Jasper replied, "I know what to do with a beautiful women, and it doesn't include talking about you. Arrogant prick," he tagged on at the end with a good-natured jab to my ribs. Yeah, I guess I knew that.

"So…" I eyed my beer, realizing I'd hit the bottom. "She swept Bella out of the house first thing this morning."

"Fuck yeah," Emmett barked as he slammed his fist on the table, shaking our bottles. "Pay up!"

Jasper narrowed his eyes at me as he dug a ten out of his pocket and slapped it down in front of Emmett. "Just so you know Edward, I was on your side. You let me down."

"The fuck is that about?" I sat forward and caught the bill with the bottom of my bottle before Emmett could pull it away. "You're betting on me?"

"Betting against you," Emmett clarified proudly. He tugged the ten, slipping it out from under my bottle.

I chucked my empty at the trashcan with too much force. It crashed inside on top of the many others with a loud shattering sound. Oh well. "Start talking," I demanded. Why was I suddenly so fucking interesting? As if my friends didn't have lives of their own to meddle with.

"I bet Jazz that you couldn't go thirty minutes without asking about Bella." Emmett looked so proud of himself. I wanted to knock that stupid grin off his face. "You didn't make it twenty."

"Of course I want to know what she's doing. Bella's my roommate. We have plans on Sundays. We have, you know, shit to do. We have a routine."

"You have a routine," Jasper corrected. Semantics. "And Bella's just goes along with it. The girls have been hanging out a lot around campus. As far as I know, they're close."

"How close can they be? Bella's known her for two weeks."

"What difference does that make? I'd think you'd be glad Bella found a girlfriend who isn't from our graduating class. Or didn't you ever stop to think that maybe she missed having friends? I like you, but sometimes you're shitty company."

Of course I'd thought about it. I knew it wasn't Punky's preference that her entire social calendar included school, hanging around the house with my sorry ass, and going to gigs with the band. Guys could be selfish, heartless dicks. But girls? Fuck. The chicks we went to high school with, for the most part, were vengeful bitches. And that was not word I used lightly when referring to females.

My whole world came to a halt in the week after my mother died.

I found my fingers ripping the label off one of the empty bottle on our table.

Dad called out of the hospital and told the school I'd be absent for a few days after spring break. Likewise, Charlie had dropped everything to help with putting together the funeral. That left Bella and I shoved together when all I'd wanted to do was crawl in a hole and hide from her and everyone else. She had her own shit to deal with—because of me—and there she was, swept up in the grieving an taking care of two lost and distraught men. My father and I literally didn't know what the fuck to do with ourselves without Esme. One second she was there, the next she wasn't. The machine just broke down.

But eventually we had to go back to work, go back to school, and learn how to function again. The first day back was a disaster. I spent the first two periods dodging Bella in the halls and silently willing everyone not to look me in the eyes or ask how I was feeling. I would have broken the nose of the first person to utter the words "I'm sorry for your loss." Instead, it was Bella who was the center of negative attention.

Lauren Bitcherella Mallory. Fucking useless waste of oxygen.

Word of the break-in at the police chief's house spread quickly. By the time Bella and I were back at school, everyone had heard a version of the story, not a few of which included me hauling ass from her place after midnight. Fucking nosy neighbors. Mostly, people were morbidly curious to hear Bella's account of events. Some were generally concerned about her and offered their support. Not Lauren. She'd always been a backbiting bitch; jealous of Bella and the attention she supposedly "stole" from the rest of the female junior class. When the opportunity presented itself, Lauren and her Mean Girls gaggle pounced on the perceived weakness. They went straight for my Punky's jugular, and the strike hit.

**FIVE YEARS AGO**

I felt the eyes on me all morning. Through my English and math classes, I heard the thinly concealed whispers behind my back. I caught the sideways glances. In answer, I grit my teeth and clenched my fists. My dad hadn't laid into me over breaking Mike's nose, but I knew that shit storm was brewing. It was only a matter of time before he cornered me for the talk. Whatever punishment he felt necessary, it was worth it.

All of that added up to having to bite my tongue and watch my ass for a while. I definitely couldn't get caught beating the hell out of the next person that looked at me sideways, covered his mouth, and muttered something to the asshat sitting next to him.

When the bell rang to dismiss us to lunch, I jumped out of my seat and hauled ass toward the cafeteria at the opposite end of campus. I'd just grab something to drink and take it to one of the rehearsal rooms in the music building until my jazz band class third period. The fewer people I had to interact with today the better for everyone.

On my way, I saw some of the varsity cheerleaders gathered with their flag core groupies. They were laughing and goading each other, kicking up a racket while I heard the sound of something banging loudly against wood. As more students poured out their classes and into the halls, the group got larger. The mass swelled with juniors and seniors all circling something. Okay, I was little curious.

I approached, looking over the tops of heads to see Lauren—bitch—and a couple of her witless followers with their backs up against the door to the janitor's closet. The fuck?

"Edward!" Angela grabbed my arm and yanked me. Her face was red and her long black hair, usually straight and neat under a headband, was all frizzy on top liked she'd had to fight her way through a gauntlet to get to me. "They shoved Bella in the closet. They're trapping her in there."

I stopped listening after I heard my Punky's name. I was already tossing people out of my way before Angela stopped talking.

Male or female, I didn't give a fuck. I shoved my way to the center of the circle where a wake of uniform-wearing vultures were cackling and egging on the three girls holding the door closed. I knew then that the banging sound I'd heard was Bella. Trapped.

"Move," I growled at Lauren. She rightfully looked a little scared as I glared down at her. My shoulders were bunched tightly. If I'd been in any shape to consider my actions before I made them, I might have been concerned that I was about to break a girl's face.

The serious expression quickly dissolved when Bella recognized my voice, called to me, and then started frantically banging on the door again. The three girls were jostled slightly as Bella likely threw all of her weight at the door. They deflated into a fit of giggles. I lost all ability to think at that point.

My fist flew out and landed with a deafening crack against the heavy door. Right between Lauren's head and the girl next to her. All three of them flinched and screamed. I knew I'd broken my hand, but I couldn't feel it yet.

"Move," I roared at them.

They darted away from me. I pulled open the door, found Bella in the tiny pitch-black room looking like terrorized bunny in a snake pit, and picked her up without a word. The sea of jackass witnesses who hadn't done a thing to stop this parted like the red fucking sea as I carried her to my car and tore ass to the police station.

After Charlie had her calmed down and taken care of, I left again. This time, I went straight to Sam's shop and got my first tattoo: the raven Bella had drawn for me that always sat in my back pocket. I was too young to drink and I didn't fuck with drugs. In either case, I didn't want to be comfortably numb. I wanted to feel the pain, if only to have something to concentrate on. With a throbbing broken hand - no one would make me play piano for a while - I sat under Sam's gun and bled.

Every ounce of ink carved into my skin had a meaning. Only posers and dipshits got tattoos for the fuck of it or picked a doodle out of a book. The raven with two broken wings nailed to my shoulders and a key in its talons represented the only thing I'd ever been afraid of.

_He_ had a raven tattooed on his thigh.


	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **I just had to get this chapter out. So here you go. I have to admit, this story is putting me in a weird headspace. I'm not sure how that will impact my other WIPs, but I'm plugging along the best I can. This one is consuming me.

* * *

**Chapter 14: The Blues**

Coming out of the bathroom, I heard my phone vibrate on the nightstand. I glanced at the screen and for just a second my muscles tensed. Two more vibrations passed while I shook the thought from my mind.

"Hey, Charlie."

"Edward, how's it going?"

"Good. You?"

I sat on the edge of my bed. It wasn't unusual for Charlie to call me and not his goddaughter. Bella and Carlisle had their own relationship, and likewise Charlie sometimes just wanted to check up on her without getting caught.

"Eh, just kicking back and watching the game." He was quiet for a minute and then I heard the sound of his squeaking recliner locking back into the upright position. "How's school going?"

He always tried to make small talk before he dove in with the questions. I don't why he bothered beating around the Punky. It wasn't like we shared any common interests outside of Bella.

"Everything's good," I answered patiently. "Bella's out with a girl from one of her classes."

"Oh yeah?" He liked this. And for the most part, so did I. She really needed someone like Alice. Well, maybe not Alice, but another girl she could do stuff with. "That's good. Good," he repeated. Yeah, the idea took a little getting used to.

"Her name is Alice," I offered up. The quicker I gave up the details, the easier this would go. Charlie didn't like coming across as though he were interrogating me, even if that was his intent. "She's dating Jasper."

"He's a good kid," Charlie agreed. See? Take-home-to-daddy type. That reminded me of something.

"And she's been spending time with Jacob."

She and Charlie had gone down to the reservation for dinner the week after our trip to the beach. Aside from him showing up at the bar, I hadn't seen much of Jacob. Bella had also been mum on the subject. I slid the barbell in my tongue between my teeth, waiting to see if he'd take the bait.

"You remember the Blacks, right?"

I shrugged, though he couldn't see it. "I don't know. Not really."

"Uh-huh. Well, they were friends when you two were kids. Why do you ask?"

Okay. We'd both known each other for too long. I distinctly heard the goading tone in Charlie's voice and I surmised that my innocent question hadn't slipped under his radar.

"Do you trust him?" Because that was the whole point.

"Me and Billy go way back." That wasn't an answer. Charlie was quiet for moment. In the background, I heard the recliner squeak again. "His boy is good people. Never been in any trouble. I've got no problems with him."

"Do you trust him?" I asked a bit more forcefully.

"You'd know if I didn't."

I wasn't sure what was with Charlie's evasive answers. Maybe the unspoken meaning there was that Charlie didn't completely trust anyone with his goddaughter. I knew the feeling. Nevertheless, he trusted me.

No matter how many times I'd gotten in trouble for fighting when I was younger, Charlie never gave me a hard time. Part of that was the fact Bella and I used to be attached at the hip. More so, Charlie felt sorry for me. He'd never say it out loud, but he didn't have to, and would probably never move on from the reason I came to this town in the first place.

"Yeah. Okay." The barbell clicked against my teeth. I wasn't supposed to do that. People with tongue piercings were prone to chipping their teeth for just this sort of habit. Oh well. "Well, like I said, Bella is doing good. She seems to like her classes and she made a friend. Nothing much else going on."

"Right. Actually, the reason I called was to invite you down to the range this week. Maybe Thursday?"

"Sure thing. I'm free after 4:30."

"Great. Come on over to the house at five."

We said our goodbyes and hung up. Charlie probably wanted to talk about Bella's birthday and figure out the plans for my Dad coming into town. Sitting around chatting wasn't our strong suit. Going to the range provided a distraction we could talk over.

We hadn't really done the birthday party thing in years, but the four of us would get together for a family dinner. I usually bought Bella art supplies and an iTunes gift card. Anything more personal than that made me anxious. Either she'd hate it and throw it at my head or she'd love it and then I wouldn't know what to do. Keeping it platonic was the best course of action. Besides, she seemed to appreciate stuff she could actually use.

When the decision had been made that Bella and I would live here while we went to college, Charlie had asked me to come by the station one morning. I was informed, not asked, that I'd be taking a gun safety course, applying for my permit, and keeping a Berretta locked in my nightstand. Last year Charlie conveniently left a hunting rifle in the hall closet behind the coats I hadn't worn in years and a bunch of junk in stacked boxes that I'd moved out of the garage because I needed the space.

Bella hated guns. She didn't trust them. I suppose I sort of understood that. Nothing good ever happened when you needed to use one.

Downstairs, I heard the front door shut. I'd just gotten home from the bar and still smelled like smoke, so I kicked off my shoes and tossed my shirt in the hamper. It was one thing to just accept the bar smell while you were in one, it was another to let it follow you around the house.

As I came out of my room Bella passed by with two shopping bags in her hands. "Hey," I greeted her. "Have fun?"

"Yeah," she nodded indifferently. Her eyes paused on the new image on my ribcage. "It healed well. Looks good."

"You're a good artist," I told her honestly. Bella had drawn the sketch for everything inked into my skin.

She kept walking to her room where she tossed the bags on the floor next to her bed. I followed her in and leaned against the dresser. Bella tossed a look over her shoulder, but didn't kick me out while she slipped her shoes off and emptied her pockets on her nightstand.

"What did you do today?"

"You smell like the bar," she deflected. Bella turned around. The telltale sassy eyebrow was up.

"Just shot some pool with the guys for a couple hours. After I cleaned the house."

"You cleaned?"

She picked up her bags and dumped them out. A couple of vintage band shirts fell out, along with more art supplies—she had some kind of fetish that wouldn't be sated no matter how many times she fed it—and a couple of vinyl records. Those caught my attention.

"I had a productive morning," I told her proudly as I sat on the other side of the bed and picked up one of the records to look it over. Some band I'd never heard of, which was impressive. I wondered if this was Alice's influence. "So I rewarded myself."

"I'm impressed," she answered mockingly.

I gave her that one. It was pretty rare that I picked up a sponge. Clearly I'd overshot in trying to take on the vacuum. Baby steps.

"So," I prodded as I looked at the second album, "what kind of trouble did you girls get into all day?"

"Pretty scandalous stuff." Punky yanked the tags off the shirts and folded them to place them neatly in her dresser. I usually just shoved my clothes in any empty drawer and called it good. "We checked out the new work at SODO," a little art gallery that she liked in the city, "got lunch, looked around at few shops, bought some music…"

She trailed off as she turned around to find me lying on my side while scanning the album jacket. I looked up, thinking that I'd given her the impression that I wasn't listening. My brain could multitask. "Bought some music," I prompted to show I'd been paying attention.

"And that's it," she shrugged and came to sit on the edge of the bed. She yanked the record from my fingers. "Nothing exciting, but it was fun. Alice is cool."

Again her eyes raked over my bare abdomen. I didn't mind her looking. If I had the sort of artistic talent that Bella possessed, I'd probably stare at my work all day too. One day when her canvas was old and flabby she'd be on my case for fucking up her designs.

"So tell me about them." I nodded at the album in her hand. It looked folksy. As long as the music was good, I could appreciate all genres.

Punky ducked her eyes as she flipped the album over. She smiled shyly, which intrigued me. "Never heard of them," she admitted. "I…uh…kinda just picked these out because I liked the sleeves."

Now that made sense. Growing up, I was Bella's tutor in all things musical. She got the eyes and I got the ears. Thankfully, she'd taken to my teachings and had skipped right over all that shitty pop music and right to the good stuff.

I sat up, snatching the record from her little fingers. "Come on. Let's see if they're half as good as their cover art." I crossed to her door. The only record player was in my room.

"Now?"

"You got better plans?"

Punky shook her head and got up, following me to my room.

I owed Alice a present; something loud, shiny, and expensive. I'd have that fucker wrapped with a big black bow and a marching band to deliver it at her front door. Despite how irritating and nosy that little sprite could be, my first instincts about her were correct. Alice was my lucky charm.

Whatever voodoo magic she'd worked on Bella, it had definitely played in my favor. Punky came home in a good mood, which continued while we lay on my bed and listened to what had to be the world's worst Kentucky blue grass band to ever press vinyl. It was bad. Really fucking painfully bad. But Bella laughed all the way through the lyrics and even did little imitations with a pretty poor country accent.

"No!" She shot across the bed and grabbed my arm as I got up to change the record. "I want to listen to it again. I liked that last song." I gave her a droll look, to which she collapsed back on the bed and laughed. "Okay, like is strong word. But it was sort of catchy."

"Not a chance." I pulled the record out and shoved it back in the sleeve. "This shit sucks. And you're not allowed to do accents anymore. Stick to drawing pretty pictures."

Punky launched one of my pillows at me. "So violent," I admonished her. "Give me the other one. We'll try that."

She huffed at me and scrunched her face up, but I ultimately got my way. It had gotten dark outside. Thick grey clouds were moving in over the tree line in the backyard. I'd always liked thunderstorms at night; the colors, the sounds, the electricity that make your hair stand up straight on your arms, and the smell of the rain getting closer. I'd been in Hilton Head once when a hurricane changed course and pounded us for two days. I watched from the balcony of our hotel room as it moved closer to shore. That was by far my favorite kind of weather, right before all hell broke loose.

"What is it?"

I'd been staring out the window too long. "Nothing. Storm's coming."

"Then start it already, Mr. Music Snob."

I narrowed my eyes at her, setting the needle to the record before climbing back on the bed. I sprawled out on my back and closed my eyes to just listen. We lay sideways across the bed, Bella on her stomach while she flipped through the little booklet that went with this record.

For five tracks, we quietly listened to the tragically sad blues album. This one was good—heartbreaking and enviably great, actually. The acoustic guitars made me jealous and feel like a complete hack. I let my mind wander inside the melodies, almost completely ignoring the lyrics. It was so elegantly simple to the ear but remarkably complicated to produce. Like good classical piano, the result of so much intricacy was to make it sound effortless. These guys were fucking geniuses. Well, Bella was never getting this record back.

We both flinched, making the bed bounce slightly, as my bedroom was filled with bright light. A second later the loud crack of thunder followed the lighting that must have struck somewhere very near. The sound rumbled on for so long that I would have thought it impossible to sustain. My heart started beating a little faster as Bella caught her breath and then let out a fit of relieved laughter. It had startled both of us.

"Storm's here," she acknowledged.

To punctuate her statement, another and impossibly closer burst of lighting filled my room, immediately followed by the deafening thunder. And just like that, the music stopped and Bella and I were lying in my bed in complete darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **A few of you have mentioned that you'd like more insight into what Bella's thinking. Too bad. Sorry. Edward is your unreliable narrator. Just deal with it. Bella will make her feelings known when she's good and ready, so suck it up. Love ya! :-)

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**Chapter 15: Four Rooms**

**"There's a putrid rotting corpse of a dead whore stuffed in the springs of the bed."**

"Maybe it will come back on," Bella remarked as we both remained completely still on my bed. I knew better.

We lived in the middle of fuck-all nowhere. The power lines were old and fickle. The slightest tremble in the weather and we'd be without power for hours—days if heavy winds downed trees across the two-lane road or too much rain caused flooding that made repairs more time consuming.

"I've got a flashlight." I sat up and reached into my nightstand, grabbing the Surefire that sat next to the lockbox for the Berretta. With a click, my room was illuminated by 500 lumens of LED light.

Bella squinted and covered her eyes, temporarily blinded by the brightness. I set the flashlight on the nightstand and pointed it at the wall. It was enough to illuminate the room, and with that I noticed her fingers worrying the hem of her jeans. She'd never had any fear of the dark—just the opposite, actually. In Bella's experience, the dark had always offered her security and protection. Rather than develop claustrophobia for what she'd endured during the robbery, Bella found comfort in small, concealed spaces.

There were other concerns, however.

"Give it a second," I assured her. "The generator will kick on. I checked it on the first."

Without fail, I checked the generator outside the garage on the first of every month to make sure it was fully fueled. During a storm freshman year, we'd lost power for two days, which meant we'd been without the security system for just as long. We'd gotten by just fine at Charlie's house, but Bella didn't sleep at all. She was agitated and anxious all night as Charlie and I stayed up to watch movies with her as a means of distraction.

Following that episode, I'd made the investment in a generator. It was enough to power the security alarm, cameras, and the outdoor motion detectors and floodlights on each corner of the exterior.

Just as it was supposed to, three little beeps sounded from downstairs, indicating that the keypad in the foyer had reset itself.

"See? No worries."

Bella looked up and nodded. She was doing her best not to look concerned. "Thank you. For remembering," she clarified. "I guess I took the quiet summer for granted. I haven't looked at it in a while."

"It's my job." Bella was in the unenviable position to sort of need me. The least I could do was take my responsibilities seriously.

"Right." She looked out the window being pelted by rain.

"We should probably go ahead and lock up." It was still too early to contemplate sleeping, but the sooner we got it over with the sooner she'd relax.

"Yeah," she nodded again.

Her mood had deteriorated quickly, which severely bummed me out. For the last hour, everything had been as close to perfect as I could hope for. I didn't want to let this little hiccup ruin her evening, but I didn't really know what to do about it.

I held the flashlight as Bella led the way to her room. She stopped in her bathroom to light a candle and set it in front of the mirror, which was enough to illuminate her bedroom while the door was open.

In precise order, Bella performed her ritual through her room, back to mine again, and then downstairs. Along the way, I gave her a bit of space while I found candles to light and leave burning in the kitchen and living room. The orange glow bounced off the windows and shiny appliances, filling the open floor plan with soft light. It was too warm for the fireplace. If we had to spend any significant amount of time without A/C, I wouldn't add insult to injury by baking us alive in here. After setting the alarm, Bella brought up the app on her phone and checked the cameras.

"All good?"

"Yep." She slid her phone into her back pocket. "So… I guess I'll get ready for bed."

"I downloaded some new music on my laptop," I was quick to reply. "We could go back upstairs and listen to that." Admittedly, I'd missed Punky's company. We hadn't just sat and listened to music together in a long time. Hell, we were never so physically close to one another as long as we had been on my bed unless we were in a car. Even at The Nest she sat at the opposite end of the table. More than that, she'd seemed so happy and relaxed. I wanted to get that feeling back. "Or a movie. I have a few on my hard drive, but we could pick a DVD if you want."

"Yeah, okay." Bella's expression perked up a little, so I assumed I'd done something right. "I want to change clothes and stuff. You pick something and I'll be there in a minute."

I handed Bella the flashlight to find her way up the stairs and went into the living room to look through the DVDs. I figured it was best to err on the side of levity, so I picked out a few comedies to choose from. I grabbed one of the candles from the coffee table, made sure that the others downstairs wouldn't ruin any surfaces or burn down the house, and then went back to my room.

Bella's door was closed, so I set the candle down and quickly pulled off my jeans and boxer briefs to put on a more comfortable pair of lounge pants. I sat back against the headboard and waited for the laptop to boot up. Sure enough, Punky appeared at the threshold of my bedroom wearing my TOOL sweater that hung mid-way down her slender thighs. She looked adorable as fuck, and I couldn't help but imagine she wasn't wearing anything under the black Lateralus tour souvenir. Of course she was—tiny shorts that gave my dick a stroke every time she bent over—but a man could fantasize.

"What?" Bella pulled her long hair out of the neck of the sweater and walked toward the bed.

What, what? I shrugged. "Come take a look at your options."

"You were supposed to pick," she reminded me with a sassy note to her voice.

"You know how bad I am at following instructions," I smirked at her. "Anyway, I narrowed the field. Lady's choice."

"That one," she pointed at one of the DVDs laid out on the nightstand. I liked that about Punky. She was decisive. And she had great fucking taste in movies.

"I haven't watched 'Four Rooms' in years." I popped it out of the case and slid the DVD in my laptop.

Bella crawled up on the bed next to me. She literally had to hoist one leg up and then sort of lift herself the rest of the way because I had a thick mattress and the bedframe was a good foot and a half off the floor. She rearranged the pillows behind her until she was comfortable while I set the laptop down between our legs and turned the volume up as loud as it would go.

"Homecoming, freshman year of high school," Bella commented, correctly pointing out the last time we'd watched this movie together. "I didn't want to get dressed up—"

"And you were mortified at the idea of dancing—"

"So you rented a limo, picked me up at Charlie's in a tux, and brought us back here."

"I'll take Tarantino over high school rights of passage any day," I affirmed. "But you did dance," I nudged her shoulder.

"And you've been sworn to secrecy about that," Punky reminded me with a very potent glare.

I'd taken requests at the piano with her insistence. To fit the occasion, I'd opted out of my classical repertoire in favor of Billy Joel and Elton John. Punky could get down to some "Uptown Girl" as long as no one else was watching.

"On my honor as a Cullen and a man, your secret is safe with me."

Bella laughed at my overly serious expression as I crossed my heart with a grand gesture. "You know what that makes me think of?"

"You've known too many Spaniards?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed excitedly and smacked my shoulder. Whether she was happy with me or pissed off, Bella had always been knocking me around since we were kids. To be clear, she'd been the one pulling hair and leaving bruises on the playground. Violent little thing. "How do you do that?"

"Mind reader," I winked at her.

"Inconceivable!"

"I do not think that means what you think it means," I replied with a thick Spanish accent.

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?"

"Now you're just stalling." And I was mixing characters, but no one was really keeping score.

"You fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is never get involved in a land war in Asia."

"And the second?" I arched my eyebrow.

"Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line."

I laughed at her lisp-affected delivery. Fucking adorable. "You're such a geek."

"Fuck off and start the movie, Cullen." She backhanded my bare stomach. Admittedly I flinched, thinking she might have been aiming for my junk.

I pointed a stern finger right at her, narrowing my eyes. "Don't misbehave," I commanded in my best Antonio Banderas impression.

Bella rolled her eyes but smiled. As the intro cartoon took over the screen, Bella and I settled back to watch. Because we were already wound up, we found ourselves quoting lines over the movie.

"Hello, Betty." I recited over Tim Roth. "What's the problem? I haven't got a problem. I've got fucking problems. Plural. Want to hear?"

"Sure," Bella answered.

"Well, most recently there's room three-oh-nine. There's this scary Mexican gangster dude poking his finger in my chest. There's his hooligan kids snapping their fingers at me. There's a putrid rotting corpse of a dead whore stuffed in the springs of the bed. There's rooms blazing a fire. There's a big fat needle from God knows where stuck in my leg infecting me with God knows what. And finally there's me, walking out the door, right fucking now. Buenas Noches."

Too dead-on, my phone vibrated on the nightstand, scaring the shit out of both of us as the hotel switchboard in the movie buzzed at Tim Roth. I paused the film to reach over and the silence my phone, realizing it was just a text.

"Emmett," I told Bella. Again she let out a relieved laugh. She was so easily startled.

I read the text twice before the words clicked in my head:

**Alice just laid out Lauren Mallory!**

Below that was a picture of Alice's swollen hand, zebra nail polish and wrist covered in bracelets included. Another message came through immediately, this one a photo of Lauren on the ground with Stalker Stanley hovering over her. Holy shit.

I sent a quick reply:

**Delete these pics and don't get arrested. Watching a movie with Punky. Buy Alice a shot on me.**

"What's up?" Bella wasn't the sort of person to read over your shoulder, but I suspected that my expression gave something away.

"Take a look," I handed her the phone and let her read the message.

"Holy shit."

"Yeah," I couldn't help but breath out a laugh. Great minds. "Exactly."

"What the hell happened?"

"No idea. That's all I got. Assuming they don't need bail money, we'll find out tomorrow."

"I should call Alice." Bella moved slightly to get up, but I reached out and put my hand on her bare thigh to stop her.

"They'll call if they need anything. Stay and finish the movie." I concentrated on looking Bella in the eyes. I hadn't premeditated the way I had touched her—was still touching her—but now that my hand was there, my skin burned with feel of her soft, warm skin. My fingers ached to flex, though I remained perfectly still. "If we call them now, they'll just try and talk us into going out to the bar."

"Yeah," she nodded. Her eyes remained fixed with mine. "Okay. You're right."

I reluctantly pulled my hand back and started the movie again while Bella adjusted her position against the headboard and fucked with the pillows behind her.

"Can you see okay?" I tilted the screen a little more in her direction. Bella shifted again, closer to my side.

Oh fuck it. It wouldn't be the first time Bella punched me in the nuts. Man up, Cullen.

"Come here," I told her softly as I put my arm over the back of her pillows and slid her until she was leaning against my shoulder. "There. Better?" For the viewing vantage point. That's all.

"Yeah," Bella answered quietly as she dropped her head against my chest. Better.

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**End Notes:** Okay, say it with me: AWW!


	16. Chapter 16

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Chapter 16: Muscle Memory**

**"I'm going to fuck you till you love me."**

Her tiny fingers dug into my shoulder and then nails lightly scraped down my back. I groaned, thrusting deeper into her hot cunt. So fucking tight, her body clenched around my cock, pulling me inside even as I pulled back and then drove harder. With my weight leaning on my forearms on either side of her head, my tongue laved at one pink nipple. She whimpered, arching her back to push her tits in my face. I bit down lightly, tugging the erect tip between my teeth.

"Fuck, Edward. More."

Her dirty little mouth made it difficult to concentrate. I wanted to get her there before I shot off, but this girl just kept testing my endurance. Even as impaled her, sliding so easily through her wetness, I thought about how fuck-awesome she had looked sucking me off. But I didn't want to come in her mouth. I'd gently urged her off me and pressed her down, pulling her thighs apart to reveal that perfect pussy.

I moved one hand between us as I sat back on my heels, dragging her hips up with me to get a better angle. I slid deeper, feeling her stretch around me. She moaned a deep, almost painful sound. Watching her carefully, I played with her swollen cit. Her entire body convulsed as my thumb pressed harder.

"This want you want?"

"Yes, fuck. Please."

I spend my pace, fucking her tight hole as I rubbed circles over the sensitive nub. Around my hips, her thighs trembled. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down. I watched, fascinated with the sight of my dick disappearing inside her. Her pussy was so damn wet and slippery. And because I just couldn't stop myself, I briefly brought my fingers to my lips and sucked her flavor onto my tongue. Eating her out had been a fucking religious experience.

She whimpered pleadingly, making me laugh just a little.

"What is it?"

"You—stopped," she panted as I drove into her with quick, deep thrusts, slamming our bodies together forcefully.

"You want to come?" I asked teasingly.

"Please, Edward. Keep going."

I loved it when she begged in that sweet, needy voice. As if I wouldn't give her anything she wanted and everything she needed. I resumed rubbing small circles over her clit with my thumb, my other hand palming her perfect ass as I leveraged her hips up to meet mine. Her entire body began to quiver. I felt her walls clamping down on my cock with strong convulsions.

"That's it. Come on dick, sweetheart." It felt too good. So tight. So hot. My thighs strained and my balls tightened. I sped my pace, plunging into her harder, my sac slapping against her ass. "Shit, yes. Milk my cock." I grabbed on to both of her hips, thrusting up and embedding myself deeply as she cried out my name. I spilled hot and heavy inside her a moment later, my own orgasm clenching every muscle.

I couldn't hold myself upright anymore and collapsed on top of her. We were breathing heavily, our bodies slick with sweat and coated in the scent of sex. I felt her fingers lazily slide up and down my spine, which was enough to keep me half hard inside her. I kissed along her collarbone and up the side of her neck, nipping at her warm flesh along the way. I noticed the little bite mark I'd already left on her shoulder. I was fucking proud of it, too. I'd clearly and unmistakably claimed my territory.

"That was awesome," she giggled through heavy breaths. Again, the movement only served to get my dick harder.

"I love you, Punky."

"I like you pretty well, too."

I raised my head to glare at Bella. She wore a cocky little smirk. I growled, narrowing my eyes and thrusting myself inside her. "Like?"

"Like a lot," she smiled playfully. Bad Bella.

"Bend over, naughty girl. I'm going to fuck you till you love me."

I woke up hard, sweating, with my hand fisted around my cock. I'd known it was a dream even while the fantasy played out in my sleep, but that didn't lessen the disappointment when my eyes finally opened to confirm that I was alone. I didn't make it a habit—like I had any control over the matter—to have explicit dreams about fucking Bella ten ways to Tuesday. The fantasies I let get me off in the shower or after riding a one-night stand were totally different. She wasn't supposed to wake me up in the middle of the night mid-jerk.

I blamed Alice. Fucking irritating little monster.

Or maybe it was because I had Bella curled up in my bed not so long ago, her head resting on my shoulder through a second movie that motivated my subconscious. I was a fucking tool because I'd been half hard under the blanket while watching Roger Rabbit. I just couldn't help the fact that my dick responded with interest when he knew she was in range. Having her warm little body tucked under my arm elicited certain natural responses.

Frustrated, I released my dick and threw back the blankets. I looked at my phone: 3:30 a.m. I also had three text alerts from Emmett. Since none of them were a plea for bail money, I ignored him. Might as well take a shower and rub this one out or I'd never get to sleep. That fucking song was still running through my head, but I didn't have the energy to bother working on it.

Out of habit, I flicked the light switch in my bathroom, which reminded me that the power was out. Right. Brilliant.

Bella screamed.

My blood went cold.

I jerked to attention and paused for only a split second before I ran out to Bella's room next to mine. I collided with the door, damn near pulling the handle off when it refused to open. I Jiggled the little knob, but it wouldn't budge.

"Bella!" I pounded on the door. "Bella, are you okay?"

The door cracked open and I shoved it aside, almost clipping her in the process.

"What's wrong?" I grabbed her face between both hands, searching her eyes that refused to meet mine. I scanned the dark room, but saw nothing. "What happened? I heard you scream."

"It was nothing," she practically whispered, but I could still feel her pulse wildly throbbing in her neck. "I—nothing. It's stupid. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"Stop it with that shit," I demanded. "What happened?"

"I was just having a nightmare. I woke up and heard something at the window. It startled me, that's all. I'm fine."

Again I looked at the window being pelted by rain. We were both silent for a few seconds, which is when I noticed the tapping, scratching noise of a tree limb battering her window. I cursed under my breath, finally letting myself take a full and deep breath. I heard Bella do the same as she stepped out of my grasp, my hands falling at my sides. Shit. I was still sporting a semi. It was dark enough, so she probably hadn't noticed.

"You scared the shit out of me," I admitted. Both hands ran through my hair and scrubbed at the back of my neck. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Nothing here but me and the mice," she shrugged. That might have been funny if our former home hadn't actually had mice. Fucking shithole.

"Okay." I just kept looking at the barely visible version of Punky standing in front of me. I made no move to turn around and leave her to it. I just couldn't make myself go. "I—uh—fuck. Give me a second."

I leaned against her dresser, forcing a few deep breaths to go in and out. It wasn't lost on me that I might have been more terrified than she was. My hands were shaking a little with the adrenaline still running through my body.

"I'm really sorry," she meekly spoke again. "I—"

"You know what I'm thinking about now?" Bella didn't say a word. Right, I guess that was a poor way to open. The first thought that popped into both of our minds wasn't what I was referring to, however. "The time you broke your collarbone. I saw you disappear down the hill on your bike and then you screamed bloody murder. I think I almost shit myself when I heard that."

"I still say that tree came out of nowhere." There was a little humor in her voice, a little life back in her tone. "It jumped right out in front of me."

"So I ran down there, expecting to find you flattened by a car or something, and you're lying at the base of the tree—a good ten feet from the road, by the way—laughing your ass off with tears running down your face."

"Yeah, I don't know," she laughed a little. "I guess I was surprised as hell to be alive? No idea, because it hurt like hell. But you carried me all the way up the hill to Charlie's house."

"Did Charlie ever tell you that he petitioned the town council to have the three cut down? Said it was a hazard or some shit."

"No he didn't," she smacked my arm. "You're kidding."

"Nope. My dad told me. Charlie was pissed when they ignored him."

"Wow," she shook her head. "I'm surprised he didn't melt my bike down after that."

"But he did have you suited up like a hockey player before he let you ride it again. You were so cute in that bright pink helmet," I teased, flipping her hair playfully. It took a second for me to realize how I'd touched her, and then I just felt awkward and self-conscious. Dipshit.

"I should umm…" Bella trailed off and looked to her windows. The wind was howling outside, the rain battering the glass, and that damn tree limb kicking up a racket.

"I'll have it cut down," I stated quickly. "Emmett will come over and help. It won't take anything at all. We should trim the limbs back from the house anyway."

"Yeah. Okay." She still didn't sound quite right and I got the distinct impression she wasn't entirely calm. I didn't particularly want to think about what could have gotten her so rattled in her nightmare.

I just took a shot in the dark. "Come on." I grabbed her pillow—Punky had some weird, unnatural attachment to only sleeping on her own pillow—and put my arm over her shoulder as I led her to the door.

"What are we doing?" She didn't resist, though I felt her tense a little as we walked out of her room.

It was a short trip.

"You won't sleep at all in there tonight. The stupid tree is going to keep you up as long as the storm continues. You're sleeping here." I tossed her pillow on my bed and pulled back the blankets. "Hop in. I'll take the sofa." It wasn't great, but the black leather sofa against the wall wasn't entirely awful to sleep on in a pinch.

"Edward—"

"I hate being late," I reminded her. "If you don't get some sleep, you'll be dragging ass while we're trying to leave tomorrow. Spare me the argument and just get in. Unless you'd rather sleep in the living room."

"Gee, when you put it that way," she replied in her signature sarcasm. That was better. Sarcasm meant she was calmer.

"Don't get lippy. In," I ordered, pointing at the bed. Punky huffed. I was sure she tried glaring at me, but he effect was lost in the dark. She did, however, follow my command. She could go right on ahead and consider herself tamed for the night.

"Good." I tucked the blankets around her, realized that was a fucking creepy thing to do, and walked to the sofa.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?" I was fucking exhausted, but halted before pouring myself down.

"You don't—um—you don't have to sleep on the sofa."

My dick was standing at attention and now quite interested. I really fucking hoped she couldn't see me pointing at her like a goddamn weathervane.

"I don't want to kick you out of your own bed. Just—just shut up, don't argue with me, and get in."

"Since you asked so nicely," I responded, mimicking her snarky retort to my curt order. In truth, I was teetering somewhere in the middle of dumbly standing still and taking a sprinting leap right at her. Please, try not to be a complete tool.

Not at all calm or collected, I walked around the other side of my bed and slipped in beside Bella. Fucking goddamn torture. If I got up to rub one out now, she'd definitely notice. How was I supposed to sleep with blue balls?

Hey, Bella, would you mind rolling over and wiggling that little ass against my cock? I've still got this raging hard-on from dreaming about fucking you senseless.

Just. Peachy.


	17. Chapter 17

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

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**Chapter 17: Don't Forget Debussy**

**I could have been watching porn**

With one hand I reached over to the nightstand and silenced the alarm on my phone. Tiredly, I rolled my face into my pillow, taking a deep breath. I could smell her all around me—all soft and girly. My arms constricted around the fluffy pillow. It was fuller than normal, sort of squishy, actually. I slept on a latex foam pillow, this was...fluffy. Opening my eyes, I found myself hugging a lilac-covered puff that had the distinct scent of Punky's shampoo. Fuck me.

I'd slept like a fucking rock. Corpses didn't rest as peacefully. I had briefly held to some anxiety about what last night's sleeping arrangements might instigate. The idea of Bella rolling over and snuggling her warm little body around mine hadn't come true—at least I wasn't conscious if it had. But I sort of expected the awkward moment when we woke up together. Instead, I was alone. I guess it made sense that she'd want to get up and out before the inevitable.

Resigned, I got up and hopped in the shower. I left the door open and hurried through the cold ordeal. I rubbed one out to a particularly vivid fantasy and finished up quickly. As I pulled on some clean clothes, I wondered how long the power might be out. Part of me—the big part that was a selfish asshole—contemplated how long I could wait before actually cutting down that tree limb outside her window.

Don't even go there.

I glanced at Bella's door on my way downstairs. The door was open but she wasn't there. I found her in the kitchen sitting at the bar with a white box.

"Hey," I greeted her as I took a peek inside. There was a massive assortment of every kind of doughnut and pastry. "Where'd this come from?"

"The power was still off when I got up this morning. I ran out early and grabbed breakfast for us." Her voice was chipper, light. She actually smiled at me. "Dig in."

I decided not to question my good fortune and just sit down, shut up, and enjoy the moment. If I were honest with myself, I was feeling a little refreshed as well. But I was rarely so forthright within my own mind.

"Thanks." I picked out a maple doughnut and shoved it in my mouth before I said something stupid to piss her off. Unfortunately, there wasn't a doughnut in the world big enough to fill the silence between us.

"Hey, umm—"

"I wanted—"

We both laughed, pausing to let the other speak. "Go ahead," I told her.

Bella turned on her stool, propping one elbow on the counter. "Thank you. Not just for letting me share your room—if you tell anyone I freaked out over a tree I'll smother you in your sleep—but for keeping me company and whatever."

"No need to make threats," I answered. Bella reached over and picked off a piece of my doughnut. I glared at her habit, but she just shrugged and popped the piece between her lips with a cocky smirk. "It was fun." Punky raised an eyebrow, which had me backpedaling. "Movie night," I corrected. "We haven't done that in a while. And it was a hell of a lot better than staring at the ceiling by myself."

"That's high praise," she answered sarcastically. "I'm more entertaining than doing nothing at all. Unless that's code for watching porn?"

"Fuck. You're right. I could have been watching porn. Now I actually feel cheated." Bella slapped my arm. Her tiny little hands were meaner than they looked. "Hey." I snatched her hand and placed it on the counter. "Keep those little weapons to yourself, girly. I've got your pillow hostage in my room. Behave, or I'll defile it in all manner of unsavory ways."

"That's a low blow, Cullen. Not nice." With an unapologetic smirk, Bella stole the last bit of my doughnut and popped the huge piece in her mouth, chewing in a big, satisfied motion while wiping the icing from her fingers and licking her lip. Goddamn. Why had I ever tried to break her of that habit?

"Did you sleep well?" I didn't look at her as I tossed the question out in a manufactured tone of casual disinterest. I plucked another doughnut out of the box.

"Uh-huh."

Was that code for 'I spent the whole night trying not to get groped' or 'I've never slept so well in my life and I'm never going back to my own bed'? How was I supposed to interpret the two most vague syllables in the English language? For that matter, why was I putting so much thought into the answer at all?

Because a certain wicked fairy stepsister stuck a bug in your ear that has been slowly burrowing into your frontal lobe, digesting grey matter, and coiling around your brainstem. Fucking Alice.

xXx

I rarely participated in discussion during my lecture courses. This one was a literary theory elective for songwriters that explored the correlation between popular literature and contemporary music. I'd mostly skimmed the reading, grasped enough to sort of follow along, but I was only half listening. The majority of my attention, as I sat near the back of the room, was dedicated to my Moleskin notebook. That fucking melody existed on the edge of my consciousness, bobbing on the tide just within sight, though it frequently disappeared over the horizon. It was teasing me, taunting my ability to isolate and transcribe it in any useful way. That shit pissed me off.

Songwriting and composing, no matter the instrument or style, had always come naturally to me. I was that irritating sort of person who just shat lyrics and melodies like effortless sentences. At least I was until this particular tune. I scribbled bars of sheet music. After a few minutes, I reviewed my work and determined it looked nothing like the composition I heard through the distortion in my head, like a garbled radio transmission. I just couldn't hone in on the frequency to clear the noise.

"Mr. Cullen, care to offer an opinion?"

I exhaled a disgruntled breath, not bothering to offer my eyes to the front of the room. I generally had respect for educators. My mother had been a middle school music teacher until I was adopted and she decided to dedicate her time to homeschooling me. I pressed the short, blunt nails on my fingers into the palm of my left hand, still scribbling with my right as I took several deep breaths.

"Or are we distracting you from something more important?" Dr. Richardson was the exception to my blanket respect. He was the epitome of the adage that those who can't do, teach.

The man was a pretentious asshole. No one actually had to subject himself to the good professor's company to discern this fact. He dressed like Steve Jobs with rimless glasses, a short grey crew cut, and that I-think-I'm-still-twenty-five stubble around his chin.

In truth, he was a forty-something never-was stuck lecturing elective courses while granted only one entry-level classical composition course. I was—or had been at one time—everything he would never accomplish and had carelessly thrown away. Dr. Richardson, PhD of kiss my ass, was a failed pianist who couldn't draw a crowd to a campus attendance-required concert.

He hated me and I was fine with that. I purposefully pushed my sleeves up or took off my jacket in his class, just to shove the ink in his face. I had so much promise and potential, I was repeatedly informed, and I had scarred myself in a manner not at all becoming of the great art. Fucking pretentious dipshit.

I mostly ignored him, my eyes still trained on the notebook as I felt the entire room turn to look at me.

"I do have a thought," I answered dryly. "Jewel. She claims she's never written for an album. She went so far as to tuck that little discussion into an album track. Ignoring that self-indulgent shit, I take issue with her claim. She asserts that she just writes so damn much, she's never had to sit down and say, 'Shit, I'm supposed to cut a new record. I better start vomiting shitastic lyrics.'" Well what the fuck else is she writing for? She's a professional musician; that's how she makes a living. It is her primary vocation. Some Mary Jane Wide Eyes in a one-bedroom studio in the Bronx writes songs as a hobby. This chick cut records and gets a paycheck."

My pen scratched across the sturdy pages, connecting tumplets just for the fuck of it. The song wasn't coming out right anyway. "So yeah, Jewel, you write for the album. If anything, call yourself proactive or just fucking efficient, but don't sit there and tell your audience—putting that shit on a track—that you just gathered up a stack of songs you had lying around, recorded it, and sold that shit. Don't tell your millions of adoring fans that you put no thought whatsoever into crafting a cohesive album that spoke of a particular time in your life, inspiration, or theme. I'd be fucking insulted."

"I'm not sure how that—" Dr. Richardson began to speak. I hated the sound of his voice so much that I just kept going on, if only to spare myself the condescending tone for a minute longer.

"You know what was fuck-awesome? That interview she did with Kurt Loder in the late '90s after the release of her poetry book. That fucking thing. She tried to use 'casualty' as an adjective. No, sweetheart, it's a noun. So maybe Loder is an asshole for pointing out that the girl made a grammatical error for the sake of a rhyme, but she sat there and argued with him. He was the fucking editor of Rolling Stone. But yeah, go ahead, argue your usage because you either don't know any better or you've bought so deep into your own hype that you can't admit you were wrong."

"I like her music," some chick responded defensively.

"Bully for you." I didn't look up from the page covered in neatly arranged black lines on which a coded message from my subconscious was scrawled.

"And how do your less than cogent points," Dr. Richardson began in that condescending tone that I loathed so much—prick, "apply to the resurgence of activism in popular music during the Bush administration?"

"They don't," I answered with "casualty." "You didn't ask for a relevant opinion, only that I give one."

I felt the room shift in his direction, waiting to see if he'd stoop to my level and engage in a few rounds of verbal sparring with the disgraced child prodigy who hadn't lived up to his name. Instead, he fired a shot right at my gut.

"Friday evening there will be a mandatory seminar for all Composition and Performance majors. The department chair has invited a special guest lecturer who will talk about the business of modern classical music and the evolving audience. There will be a talkback followed by a special performance. Pianist Demetri Annikov will perform a selection from his current international tour, including compositions from Igor Stravinsky."

Fuck me running. I suddenly felt a highly infectious disease coming on. Perhaps I could catch pneumonia by Friday.

"Oh, and Cullen?" I could hear the satisfied smile in his voice. "Your distinguished presence has been requested by the dean. He is hosting a reception following the event. I'm sure you look forward to catching up with your old friend."

Brilliant. What were the odds that a new Cold War could break out in the next five days? How hard would it be to get a certain Russian put on a no-fly list?

xXx

Again I stood waiting outside of Bella's last class as the professor presided over a PowerPoint presentation while his students anxiously waited to be released. He was already four minutes over. Get a fucking watch.

I had a mind to just walk in there and spring Punky from her overly loquacious instructor, but figured she'd just yell at me for being impatient.

While moving through the music building from my jazz composition class to the Paul Simon workshop, the dean had snagged me before I could make a strategic escape. It was wishful thinking to believe I could avoid him for the entire week, but I had hoped I could claim ignorance and blow off the seminar and glad-handing reception if I hid out long enough. No such luck.

The man had a serious hard-on for me. Well, for my name and reputation. To the dean, an old man who dressed how he thought Harvard professors looked in the '50s—bowties and sweater vests under wool or tweed jackets—I was just the accumulated sum of my CV.

Somewhere in his misguided imagination, he truly believed I'd spontaneously wake up one morning and declare that my muse had returned and I'd composed a new concerto, which I would debut in concert at the university, dedicated to the man who'd nurtured and encouraged me through my academic search for self. He probably yanked it to fantasies of the speeches I would give professing my love for my alma mater and the reawakening I'd experienced while in its hallowed halls. Fucking delusional piano-perv.

Nevertheless, he had made it quite clear that my attendance at the seminar and reception was not optional.

Demetri Annikov was the Stravinksy to my Schoenberg. I had no great respect for his musical ability. He had the finesse of an untrained chimp—saying otherwise would be an insult to trained chimps everywhere—and as much innovative creativity as a knock-off piece of Coach luggage. Worse, he was a self-righteous prick who propped himself up on the fame of his father, a national treasure of the Russian aristocracy who composed two instant ballet classics that still toured the world to sold-out crowds and rave reviews.

We'd competed several times during our youth. When I began touring Europe, he would bust a nut to find a rag willing to quote him for an article in which he'd spend three paragraphs waxing philosophical about how Americans did not have the cultural competency for classical music. Turnip-eating disphit.

"Hey." Alice, dressed up like she'd just come from a funeral for My Chemical Romance, loped up the hall and then peeked inside the little window in the door to Bella's class. "They're still in there?"

"Obviously."

"What's with you?" Alice stood with her hands on her belted and studded hips, her feet in first position.

I wondered if she'd been forced into ballet as a child, having since rebelled against the stringent regimen, but still unable to break from certain natural habits so engrained in her consciousness. My head was full of useless shit. Anyway, my mind was wandering.

I didn't entirely understand the question so I shrugged and looked back through the little window. Maybe next time I'd just show up with an air horn.

"Granted, you're usually a surly shit, but I detect a particular bug has crawled up your ass," Alice chirped. One eyebrow arched expectantly.

"Why? Is it crowding your living quarters in my rectum?"

Her disgusted scowl was worth it. "See? This right here," she waved her judgmental fingers over me, "is why you two don't communicate."

"Who two? Bella? We communicate." Sometimes. Occasionally. When we felt like it.

"Right," She replied derisively. Alice picked at the black nail polish on her thumb. "I heard you two spent the night together."

I damn near swallowed my tongue, but I wouldn't give Alice the satisfaction. Frankly, her fascination with my life was beyond obnoxious. I didn't know what to do with the information that Bella had discussed last night with this chick. "I heard you've started a career as a street brawler.

"Heh," she laughed, smirking at her slightly swollen hand. "Yeah, that felt pretty good. Maybe I'll go pro."

"What set that off?"

"I don't like her face," she shrugged.

"That's good enough for me, but how about a little clarification." I couldn't drop a girl, but if the moral moratorium on slugging a chick were to be lifted for a day, I'd cunt punt Lauren Mallory and punch Stalker Stanley in the left tit.

"Her and that one girl," I assumed she referred to Jessica, "were running their mouths about Bella. Jealous bitches."

That got my back up. "What did they say?"

Alice snapped her eyes up to mine, giving me a strange look. My tone probably came out a bit too harsh. "You don't want to know."

"The fuck I don't. Tell me or Emmett will."

Her eyes drifted to the door, but even a herd of elephants stampeding down the hall and trampling the student body wouldn't distract my interest. "I guess there's a rumor going around—they probably started it—about Bella and Jake." My teeth clenched. "Actually, about Bella, Jake, and his friends."

The door opened, barely missing me as I stepped aside and agitatedly ran my hands through my hair. I couldn't tell which urge was stronger, the need to throw up or put my fist through the wall.

"Edward—"

"Meet you at the car." I walked off, throwing the metal door open as I burst out of the building.


	18. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**A/N: **I'm happy to announce that **The Debt** has been nominated for an **Engergize W.I.P Award** in the "**Most Promising Twilight Fanfiction ~ Canon**" category. Voting begins on July 13:  
www*energizewipawards*blogspot*com/2011/09/nominee s*html_

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**Chapter 18: Turnabout is Fair Play**

**"Neither is asking if I'm hiding a barbell in my cock."**

This was not a good look for me. I knew that. Even as I kicked the rear bumper of a car that cut me off in the crosswalk—fucker—I understood that my impotent rage appeared more foolish than intimidating. I hated this feeling of powerless inability. I was trapped, swinging at air, and unable to direct the years of hatred at its proper target. I'd make a deal with the devil to surrender my nuts for just long enough to land one good jab to that bitch's jaw.

I had no clear destination as I stalked away from the art building and bypassed the parking lot; I just knew that I had to take my anger somewhere else before I snapped at the wrong person. For some reason, Alice seemed like the kind of girl who would carry a pair of vice grips in her bag. I preferred not to tempt my fate and blow up at her just in case she was the sadistic type.

Since I didn't especially want to end up in court for busting out every window on Lauren's car or just setting the damn thing on fire—I'd go to prison for Bell, but this seemed an unsatisfying reason—I begrudgingly accepted that there was little I could actually do to sate my need to inflict pain on the sorry sack of shit. I couldn't hurt her, but to watch karma walk right up and slap her in the face—yeah, I would still enjoy that. Maybe karma just needed a little nudge in the right direction.

So, where does one go when a Mean Girl needs a dose of arsenic? I found myself staring down Sorority Row, the gilded lane of slut-shaming, bing-drinking, toe-polishing miscreants.

Coming up on the Tri Delta house, I scrolled through my phone to find Tanya's number. I only remembered which sorority she belonged to because the first time we'd fucked I'd been fascinated by watching the three little triangles of her tramp stamp bounce on my cock. I guessed it was a note to whoever was riding the sister notifying him on which doorstep to deliver her afterward. Seriously, why the fuck else would a girl want to put her Greek letters over her ass crack like a goddamned Made In China label?

I sent a text to Tanya:

**You at the house?**

Without putting too much thought into it, I guess I just expected she'd answer right away. She did, of course, but this wasn't a social call. I'd sooner hang by my flaccid dick than fuck a chick in her sorority house.

**Yeah. What's up?**

**Answer the door. Need a favor.**

By the time I hit the porch of the three-story building, Tanya was standing in the doorway. She wore only a tiny pair of blue shorts with the three triangles on the thigh and matching blue sports bar. Her long blonde hair was wrapped up in a messy bun on the top of her head and her skin was shiny with just a thin layer of sweat. It occurred to me that I should have been picturing her bent over, on her knees, or writhing beneath me. She had that messy, heated look about her that could just as easily go with sex or working out. I'd had her numerous times in numerous ways. Nevertheless, it wasn't doing anything for me. My dick was nocturnal as far as casual sex was concerned.

"Did I catch you in the middle of something?" I asked as she let me in.

"I was just on the treadmill." She led me into the kitchen where she grabbed a bottle of water and offered one to me, but I waved it off. "I'm a little surprised you're here."

"Me too," I confessed. At the kitchen table, two girls smiled at me. I'd make this a quick trip. "How about we talk in your room."

Tanya turned and led us up the stairs without a sassy quip or expectant smirk. That's why I liked this girl; she didn't try to mount me just for knocking on her door. Well, I hadn't actually knocked. Either way…

In her room I took a seat at one of the three little desks shoved up against the wall. There were three small beds and three matching piles of laundry and crap at the foot of each one. So it wasn't all girls, just Punky who had a weird requirement for neatness.

"You said you needed a favor?" Tanya sat on the edge of her bed sipping water. Right, best to get to the point.

"Lauren Mallory," I stated with no little disgust. "You know her?"

Tanya rolled her eyes and brought her tan legs up in front of her. "Uh-huh. She's a Backdoor Beta." I almost cracked a smile at that nickname. "She rolls with your groupie, right?"

"That's the one," I confirmed. I leaned back in the chair, grabbing a pencil off the desk and twirling it between my fingers like a drumstick. "She's a problem."

"I heard Jasper's girlfriend knocked her out at Trick Shot last night." Tanya's lips curved into the same amused smile that Emmett got when gushing on gossip.

"Where'd you hear that?"

"Facebook," she retorted like I was daft for asking.

Emmett ran the social media for the band. Other than that, I stayed off the shit. I didn't have anyone I wanted to keep in touch with whom I didn't see on nearly a daily basis.

"What else have you heard?" I sat forward, my decorated forearms resting on my legs as I scowled. It wasn't Tanya I was mad at. Regardless, it pissed me off that anyone might have heard that bullshit about Bella.

She caught on quick, her face dropping to a dry, matter-of-fact expression. "It isn't good."

"It's a load of shit," I snarled. "And if I hear you've been helping spread—"

"I know better," she snapped right back. Her icy blue eyes narrowed, chastising me for the threat. Tanya's expression softened when I let out a breath and sat back. "Your roommate probably doesn't think too much of me," she shrugged, "but she's never been rude, never given me dirty looks. You know she sent me off with a bagel once?" She laughed a little, scooting back on the bed. Of course Bella had given her a little something for the road. Punky was strange that way.

"So that's the reason I'm here." I tossed the pencil back on the desk, tonguing my lip ring in a reflexive motion as I pondered my reason. In truth, I wasn't clear on it. "Since I can't just take her out back and beat her like a rug, Jasper would rather his girlfriend not end up in jail, and Bella will probably cut the bitch if she hears what's running around the rumor mill—"

"You came to me."

Tanya got up from the bed and went to her dresser, pulling out some clothes. Without a glance or a word, she stripped out of the little shorts and top, slid on a tank top and similar shorts that hugged her tight ass. I should have gotten at least a little twitch out of my cock, but I was still sober and it was a Monday. Strange tasted better when my taste buds were suitably killed on whisky. Actually, I was thinking it was sort of gross that she'd just put on new clothes when she hadn't showered after working out. Sex sweaty was hot. Exercise sweaty was just foul.

Appraising me with a flat expression, Tanya leaned against her dresser. I hadn't stopped to think she might say no. The idea she'd refuse or maybe call me a few names hadn't entered my mind for a moment. Now, while seemingly deliberating, I was a little nervous. I didn't have a backup plan.

"What did you have in mind?"

"Lady's choice," I shrugged, running my hand through my hair.

"I could probably get one of the Sigma guys to bang her and post the video."

"No." I stood up, clenching my jaw to keep from berating her. "Not that."

"Sounds like fair turnabout to me," she taunted. I could see the way her expression lifted a little at the idea. Her amusement repulsed me.

I stepped toward her until I was inches away and glaring down. "I said no," I stated definitively. Her breath caught and she looked just a little frightened. Tamping down my irritation, I backed up and turned away. "Think of something else. I want her punished. I want her to suffer the kind of humiliation she's so fond of inflicting. I don't want it to involve some jackass drilling her out on camera."

"And what do I get in return?"

Acid rose up in my throat. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes. "I told you this was a favor, not a transaction. Help or don't."

"Okay," she sighed. "I'll see what I can do." I heard her step closer. She slid her hand around my hip, her fingers inching under my shirt. I swallowed down the bile, but the taste wouldn't wash away. It burned the back of my tongue. "Will I see at The Nest on Saturday?"

"I'm there every week, aren't I?" With that, I pulled her hand away and walked out.

xXx

Alice was sitting barefoot on the trunk of my car when I returned, her knee-high black boots on the pavement. At least she had enough sense not to scratch the paint. However, Bella was missing.

"Where's Punky?"

Alice looked up, her thin eyebrows furrowed as she cocked her head to one side. "Who?"

"Bella," I snapped. Who the fuck else?

"Why do you call her that?" Alice tucked her phone into her pocket and held out her hand expectantly. "A little help," she demanded when I just stared at her upturned palm. Begrudgingly, I bent and picked up her boots.

"It's a nickname." I leaned against the side of the car, scanning the immediate area. It wasn't overly clever or anything, but I figured the reference was sort of obvious. When we were kids, I think I just liked how it sounded. "Where is she?"

Alice laced up one boot. I watched the heel of her shoe carefully, sliding the barbell of my tongue piercing between my teeth as I waited for the moment she'd leave a nasty scuff on the paint. "She went to meet up with Jake." Alice raised her head and looked at me over her shoulder. "She was going to text you, but I told her I'd pass the word along."

Bella couldn't have mentioned this sooner? I'd stood waiting outside her classroom for fifteen minutes. She'd texted me earlier to say that she'd checked the security feed on her phone to see all the lights in the house were on, but apparently this little fact had escaped her mind. "Fine," I grumbled. "How's she getting home?"

"Said she'd catch a ride with him."

"Then what are you still doing here?" Alice had been a regular guest at the house while I rehearsed with the guys, but that was when she had Bella to entertain her. Speaking of which, when was Bella planning on getting home? We didn't usually go out on weekdays.

"And miss the chance at an hour alone together?" She hopped down from the trunk without scarring my car and smiled what could only be a look of sadistic intent. "Nope. You and me are going to get some quality time." She rounded the car to the passenger side, raising her eyebrows. "Well? Get in."

xXx

Alice's idea of quality time felt more like waterboarding.

"Why do you have so many tattoos? Do you have any other things pierced?"

"Because," I grunted. "And yes."

"Where?" Her voice was excited as her eyebrows shot up.

"None of your business."

"Why not? Why get the ink and the hardware if not for people to look at it?"

"It isn't for attention," I replied flatly. I hated that assumption. Just because some asshole got a dumbass tribal band around his bicep or a naïve girl was convinced that those Chinese letters said "Happy" or "Dragonfly" rather than "Stupid American," it didn't mean that my tattoos were intended solely for public consumption. "It's for me. Period."

"Why?"

"That's a long story." I ran one hand through my hair, my tongue piercing flicking between my teeth. The laws of physics were annoyingly finite things that I simply could not bend by will to make the distance home any shorter.

"I've got time," she reminded me.

"Yeah. I'm trying to do something about that." I hit the clutch and shifted, hitting 85. I kept my eyes out for state troopers.

"You know," she drew out the words as I gave her a sideways glance, "you might just like me if you didn't try so hard no to. I've been told I'm a good listener and a reliable friend. By my count, you travel a little light in those categories."

I expelled air through my nose, resting my head back against the seat. Her curiosity wasn't entirely invasive. I suppose it fell fairly into the category of getting to know someone. One way or another, I was stuck with this chick for a while. Bella and Alice had clearly hit it off and Jasper definitely wasn't tired of her yet. After all, the tiny terror had twice proven herself a useful ally—chasing off Jessica and giving it to Lauren. Putting it that way, I guess she'd earned a little reciprocation.

"Are you pro-life or pro-choice?"

"What?" Alice cocked her head to the side, obviously confused.

"Which is it?"

"That's not a polite question," she countered.

"Neither is asking if I'm hiding a barbell in my cock." I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. "Yes."

Her eyebrows rose in a momentary show of shock, but she quickly put on her serious face. "Pro-choice," she answered succinctly.

"And why is that?"

"Because it's my body," Alice remarked emphatically. "Some old, smelly, fat weasel in a suit can suck on the business end of a Clydesdale before he tells me what to do with my lady parts."

That provided an interesting visual. "And I'm inclined to agree with you," I assured her. She looked about in inch from pulling those vice grips from her bag and ripping out my nipple rings. I caught her looking, finding their shapes under my shirt. "That's how I feel about body modification, in a manner of speaking. My body is my own, so I made myself over to fit my own desire, not for anyone else." Even if part of that desire was the side result that a man who wore the evidence of needles dragging over skin intimidated most people on first inspection.

"To take ownership," she inferred.

"Yes."

"Because someone took that away from you once."

"More than once," I corrected through clenched teeth. I knew that Bella would never betray my confidence and discuss my past with anyone outside of our families.

"But you're sort of like Guy Pearce in 'Memento,'" she went on. "He got tattoos to remember. Like the one on your arm," she nodded at the concerto wrapping around my right forearm. "That one is for your mom."

"Okay. That's enough sharing."

For a while, Alice seemed satisfied. I, on the other hand, was edgy as the long drive only seemed to drag out the closer we got to my house. Eddie Vedder mumbled lyrics incoherently while we climbed the highway through the mountains, passing out of sight of the sun and into cloudy skies.

Eventually, my passenger exhausted her supply of polite silence. "Jake seems nice," she tossed out. She didn't look at me when I slid my eyes in her direction. She had a habit of picking at her nail polish. I knew she was goading me, though the understanding of this fact did not a damn thing to quiet my reaction to his name. Punkyfucker.

Shit. All I could see was his hands on her practically naked body at the beach. The way he manhandled her, the way she laughed and squirmed, and me sitting yards away on the water just watching it happen. If I considered for a second that he'd had her lips, I might just drive into a tree. If that sonofabitch fucked her, I'd probably break his neck. First, I had to try not to drive off a cliff on the way home.

"Wow." I looked at Alice, who was watching me carefully. "That was something."

"What was?"

"If looks could decapitate…"

Close enough. Same end result. I turned up the volume on the stereo and effectively silenced Tim Burton's nightmare sitting next to me.


	19. Chapter 19

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **I'm happy to announce that **The Debt** has been nominated for an **Engergize W.I.P Award** in the "**Most Promising Twilight Fanfiction ~ Canon**" category. Voting is now open:

www*energizewipawards*blogspot*com/2011/09/nominee s*html

Also, **Rare Purity** is up on **The Lemonade Stand's weekly poll**.

Thank you to everyone who has been pimping the hell out of this story. I'm sort of in awe of you ladies. I'm also so humbled by the fantastic response so far. I get all stupid and giddy when I see your reviews roll in and I love reading them. Thanks again.

* * *

**Chapter 19: Talk Turkey**

**"No, you're a walking hissy fit with fists."**

"You're doing it wrong," Emmett shouted over the noise. I'd have flicked him off, but my hands were busy. "Dude, I'm telling you—"

"How complicated can it be to hack off a few limbs?" I straddled the railing of Bella's balcony, chainsaw in hand, and set the business end to one of the smaller branches brushing up against the window. Ignoring Emmett's backseat driving, I efficiently cut through the limb. As it fell, however, the damn thing scraped down the side of the house, maybe taking some paint with it to the ground.

"See? Told you so." Em proudly crossed his arms over his chest, the smug bastard.

"Please," I groaned in exasperation as I killed the engine, "enlighten me."

"Geometry, my dear Watson." He dug into his duffle bag and grabbed a coil of rope, using it to tie a knot around the leafy end of the next branch. "You cut, I hold, limb swings, lowers gently to the ground." He pointed a finger at each step like he was talking to a damn four-year-old.

"Fine. Whatever." I set the chainsaw on the railing, giving the grip a good tug to pull-start it again. Nothing. Once more, harder this time. Still just a click. The fuck? The damn thing started on the first try just a minute ago. "Piece of shit," I hissed as I tugged, yanked, and damn near threw the fucking thing off the balcony.

"Hey, hey. Easy, killer." Em dropped the rope and grabbed the infernal thing away from me before I broke it. "First off, you need to set in on the ground to get the right leverage. Second," he grabbed the little grip and motioned with his arm, "you need to pull at a 45-degree angle to catch the engagement arm inside the crankshaft."

He stepped back, gesturing for me to have at it. Naturally, he was right and the chainsaw started right up. After that, we made quick work of trimming back the limbs from Bella's room.

If anyone else talked to me the way Emmett had, I might have flung him off the balcony, or at least socked him on the chin. I hated that condensing shit. But most people didn't get Em until they spent the time to get to know him. For starters, he was a basically a genius. That's not hyperbole, either.

When we first met, I expected him to be a dickhead jock that probably stuffed band geeks like me into trash cans. I was awkward as a kid, standoffish and not really interested in the same shit as others my age. With the exception of Punky, I didn't have friends until high school. Part of that was a consequence of being homeschooled, but mostly because I just never made the effort.

I considered myself a humanist in theory. In practical terms, I didn't really like people. Sort of like how communism is damn near a utopian concept, except that it fails to factor in human nature as inherently selfish and greedy, and therefore has never truly existed in the literal sense nor can it ever function as a stable societal construct. There would always be cheaters gaming the system, those too lazy to do their share, and even more who only sought to gain an advantage over their neighbors. Such is the way of man.

At any rate, Emmett surprised me. Sure, he liked sports, but less for the hard hits and male-on-male action and more for his interest in following the statistics. Baseball scorecards were almost as good as porn, as far as he was concerned. Em had a ridiculous accuracy rate for predicting the outcome of any competitive sport so long as he could gather enough data. He bought his first shitty car at sixteen with the cash he suckered out of unsuspecting victims in fantasy football and March Madness.

Emmett thought in equations and data visualizations. He taught himself programming languages over four-day weekends and solved New York Times Sudoku puzzles on the toilet, in pen.

He had a sucky home life growing up, too. His mom took off when he was little and his dad was a worthless drunk who only sometimes managed to hold on to a job.

People easily discounted Em as stupid because he cracked jokes, acted up in class, and wasn't great at grasping abstract human concepts. He struggled in English literature our senior year because Beowulf's motivations couldn't be solved for X. Never mind that he was breezing through AP calculus sophomore year.

The school ran out of math classes to stick him in, so he created his own independent studies, programming flight simulators and a thesis project on how everyone in town could save $300 per year on gas by never having to stop at a stoplight if we all traveled at exactly 27 miles per hour and timed the increments of light changes at intersections according to his calculations. They never did accept his recommendation, but I thought it was pretty fucking brilliant.

Punky initially introduced us at lunch on our first day of high school. She'd mentioned him once or twice, but I hadn't realized they were friends. They were so different, I had a hard time understanding why they got along at all. The answer, I realized, was that Emmett was just a likable fucking guy who was fun as hell.

He was immature, totally perverted, but saw the world in a far more simplified way than the rest of us. He was also autistic. Unless you understood the symptoms and spent enough time around him, you'd never know he was born different. It was a mild form, but it challenged him in social interactions for a long time. When we were younger, he'd go off on long tangents and not realize that he was alienating the other person in the conversation. For years, he had these ticks and repetitive habits.

One day I brought him with me to Jupiter and sat him down in front of a drum kit. It was my dad's idea. And just like my father had predicted, Em took to it immediately. Learning to play gave him focus and helped him channel his energy and physical inclinations. Numbers worked for the mind, but the drums occupied his hands. As a result, I got a kickass drummer who really added a lot to our music. He applied mathematical symmetry to our songs that blew my damn mind.

Emmett became a brother to me. And for the years of friendship, I cut him some slack when he made me look like a dumbass.

"I take it Alice filled you in on the showdown at the O.K. Corral?" He tossed the chainsaw in the back of his jeep, along with the duffle bag.

"I got the Cliff's Notes." I pulled my shirt off, using it to wipe my face. I was covered in sawdust, but there was no sense taking a shower before rehearsal. I'd just get all sweaty again. "Did you hear what they said?"

Em leaned back against his Jeep, giving me a wary but sympathetic look. "Yeah. It wasn't good."

"Be specific."

"Dude, you really—"

"Fuck that," I all but shouted. Why did everyone keep acting like I couldn't handle hearing the words? "I do want to know. Lauren is already on my shit list. I'm putting a stop to this real fucking quick, but I want to know how bad it should hurt when I do."

Em gave me a look, frowning as he exhaled through his nose and crossed his arms. "I only caught part of it," he began regretfully. "It was loud in there and all, and Alice was standing closer—"

"For suck sake, man. Spit it out."

He sighed heavily, letting his head fall back against the Jeep's soft top. "The story goes that Bella let them run a train on her."

My fist flew out before I could think better of it. I punched the spare tire mounted to the back of the Jeep. It might as well have been a brick wall. "Motherfucker!" I snarled, partly for maybe breaking my damn hand again and mostly for the disgusting image that forced itself behind my eyes. "Sonofamotherfuckingcocksucker." And just for good measure, because I wasn't nearly done yet, I punched the tire again. "Goddamnit." That one hurt, but my blood was too hot and my mind needed the distraction. I took two more shots, each one breaking open a little more skin over my knuckles.

"See? You should listen to me once in a while." Emmett pulled a rag out of his glovebox and tossed it at me, which I wrapped around my busted hand. "You're so predictable." Emmett shook his head, leaving me to kick rocks while he went back inside the house. "So much for rehearsal."

He was right. My hand swelled up like a fucking grapefruit almost immediately. I was pretty sure it wasn't broken, but after only thirty minutes of trying to power through the pain, we finally called it quits on practicing. The pain I could handle, but my fingers just couldn't keep a hold on the pick to strum and were fumbling over the strings like a cat threading a needle. I was in a shit mood anyway.

"Seriously, Edward, you need to get a handle on yourself." Jasper threw a bottle of water at me, which I caught and immediately regretted.

"Jackass," I hissed when he just smirked at my misery, as if illustrating his point. I had to sit on my amp with the bottle between my knees to open it with my left hand. "I am handled," I muttered.

"No, you're a walking hissy fit with fists."

"Hissy fit? Thanks, asshole. I'm glad you're so cool and collected about some bitch telling anyone who will listen that one of your best friends got used and worked over like a goddamn riding mower."

"Really?" Jasper gave me an incredulous look and then turned to Emmett. "Where does he get this shit?"

"He's sort of poetic, don't you think?" Em had the nerve to smile, all dimples and toothy grin. I chucked a broken drum stick at him. "Easy, kid. You know you're worse than Bella?"

"Why am I the only one getting upset about this?" I chugged my water, crumpling the empty bottle and throwing it in the general vicinity of the trashcan. Yeah, throwing things like a fucking girl.

"You're not the only one," Jasper snapped back. "But you are Self-righteous Asshole, party of one. In case you missed it, the girl you are just barely polite to took Lauren down just for mentioning Bella's name in a derogatory manner. We care about Bella, but throwing a tantrum doesn't really fix anything, now does it?"

"She didn't like her face," I mumbled under my breath.

"What's that?" Jasper had that tone like a disgruntled teacher who caught you mouthing off from the back row.

"Alice. She didn't like Lauren's face. That's why she helped her rearrange it."

Emmett bust out laughing, doubling over. Jasper smiled and shook his head. "You really are a twisted bastard."

"Don't I know it." I got up and went to the fridge we kept in the garage, using my shirt to wrap up a handful of ice from the freezer, and then holding it to my swollen hand.

"About that," Jasper called. "Alice said you stormed off earlier. What was that about? You didn't go hunt down Lauren and Jessica, did you?"

"No." I sank to the floor, leaning back against my amp. "Short of getting arrested, there's not much I can do."

"So..." Jasper knew better than to believe I would accept defeat so easily. This particular comeuppance was a long time coming.

"I had a chat with Tanya," I shrugged.

"Ah, man. Why?" Emmett groaned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "No offense, but I wouldn't trust that chick to tell me the time of day."

"Why should I be offended? I was fucking her, not picking out curtains and China patterns." Was that something people still did, buy China?

"Was?" Jasper perked up, raising a curious blonde eyebrow. "When did you relegate her to the past tense?"

"I don't know." I didn't like the way he pointed that out. I wasn't sure if I meant to pick my words so precisely, but what the fuck difference did it make? "What does it matter?"

"No reason," he grinned. "What did you two talk about?"

"Like I said, I couldn't really think of anything that didn't result in me getting cuffed and shoved in the back of a cruiser. I figured a sorority chick could come up with a creative solution to my problem."

"And what does Bella think of you dragging your past-tense fuck buddy into her affairs?"

I hadn't thought about it that way. I guess I hadn't put much thought into anything after hauling ass out of the building this afternoon. For that matter, I hadn't seen or spoken to Punky since Alice gave me the news.

I shrugged, getting up to head back into the house. "She's out with Jacob."

While I went upstairs to take a shower, I told Alice and the guys to help themselves to some food. That damn song kept playing in my head as I scrubbed sawdust off my body and rinsed it out of my hair. With my swollen hand pressed against the cold tiles, I bowed my head under the faucet and let the nearly scalding water beat on my neck and shoulders. I was tense, agitated; that seemed to be my natural resting position lately. My traps burned like I'd spent hours in the gym.

Stepping out of the shower, I quickly dried off, scrubbing a towel over my head. My discarded jeans sat in a pile on the bathroom floor and they drew my eyes. As I slid on a pair of warm-up pants, I fished my phone out of the jeans. Bella hadn't left me a message, even just as a courtesy to tell me when she'd be home. That bothered me, but apparently not enough or too much to just call and ask her.

"The hell is this?" Downstairs, I stood just inside from the foyer, Emmett and Jasper seated at the bar. Alice was standing over the sink, piling what looked like stir fry on four plates.

"Dinner," Alice chirped brightly. "Sit down." She was Rob Zombie presents Rachel Ray and the Kitchen of 1,000 Corpses.

I walked forward, taking up my stool with trepidation. I didn't know what to make of seeing a woman who wasn't Bella or my mom flitting about the kitchen. The barbell in my tongue flicked between my teeth rapidly as I watched her heap spoonfuls of chicken and vegetables on my plate. My bounced foot uncontrollably, but there was no hand slipping to my thigh under the counter to take the edge off.

"When I said to help yourselves, I meant like a sandwich or Hot Pockets."

Alice dropped the serving spoon in the sink, looking at me like I'd just flushed her goldfish.

"Hey, don't be an ass." Jasper elbowed me in the ribs. "I'm not telling you again." His eyes blue eyes narrowed as he stared me down. I could count on one hand the number of times I'd seen Jasper angry, but never once had I seen him get defensive over a girlfriend.

"Look. That's not what I meant." I put my elbows on the counter, running my hands through my hair. I looked up, offering Alice an apologetic smile. "Thank you for cooking us dinner. I just meant that you didn't have to, not that you did anything wrong."

"It's cool," she shrugged one shoulder, putting a forced smile on her bright red lips. "You're welcome."

Jasper's warning stare lingered on me for a few seconds before he nodded and let it drop. When Alice came around the bar to sit, he grabbed her around the waist and kissed her, whispering something I didn't hear.

We ate quietly from that point. And while it would have been easier to just ignore the whole incident, I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling it left in my gut. This was precisely why I'd walked away from Alice on campus; I couldn't be trusted to keep my mouth shut.

Sure the chick was annoying. She stuck her nose where it didn't belong, passed judgment on my life, offered up unsolicited advice at the end of a rolled-up magazine, and provoked me more than was prudent. However, she was a good friend to Bella, made Jasper happy, and was a goddamn magic charm where scathing harpies were concerned. It wasn't her fault that I was generally an asshole.

Alice got up to start clearing our plates, but I grabbed the first from her hands and insisted I'd take care of cleaning up. Jasper and Emmett stood, agreeing it was time to head out.

"Give me a second?" I put the stack of plates in the sink, glancing between Alice and Jasper. He nodded, walking out to the foyer to give us a chance to talk. Alice contemplated me with her lips twisted to one side, her hands fidgeting with her necklaces. "I'm sorry," I told her sincerely.

"I know. I get it." Alice slid her eyes over my bare chest, the ink that covered the sides of my abdomen, and then my exposed forearms. "You're not so good at letting people in and I think you just find it easier to be a prick."

I couldn't help but exhale a short laugh. "You're not wrong," I conceded. "Anyway, I think Jasper might crack me over the head with a bat if I mouth off again."

She smiled wryly, bouncing on her toes twice. "He's kind of awesome."

"And you've obviously wormed your way into Bella's good graces, so that's two sound endorsements."

Alice raised an eyebrow, an expectant little twinkle to her dark eyes. "What are you getting at, Cullen?"

"Maybe we take this out for a trial run. Kick the tires and—"

"You want a broken foot to go with that softball where your hand used to be?"

"Funny," I retorted. I tongued my lip ring, considering the unforeseen consequences of this plan. "What do you say, Tiny Tim? We going to play nice and be friendly like?"

"Tiny Tim?" She frowned, scrunching her face in disapproval. "I don't get it."

"For me to know," I teased her, ruffling her head of pixie hair. She swatted at me, shoving me away.

"Oh, Edward. I see good things in our future." She stepped away, backing up toward the foyer to leave. "But remember," Alice pointed a finger toward me, "keep that monster in your pants and don't let the little lies fool you." With a dainty spin, Alice loped off into the evening.

For a couple of hours, I tried to get some work done for school. I mostly powered through it, though the greater portion of my attention was elsewhere. I was already starting to question the wisdom of seeking out Tanya's assistance in sticking it to Lauren, that maddeningly elusive song was still tinting me to the point of infatuation, and I wasn't sure I'd make it through that fucking seminar—more like an episode of This is Your Life, Edward Cullen—without pulling my hair out.

Punky walked in the front door. I flipped through the TV channels, pretending not to watch her take off her shoes in the foyer, set her bag in the bench, and cross into the kitchen. I heard her rifling around in the fridge, opening and closing cabinets. She was in there for a few minutes while I tried to talk myself into just going upstairs and hiding out. I knew, sure as shit, I was going to do something stupid.

Bella walked into the living room and sat down on her side of the couch with a sandwich. For good measure, I hid my right hand between the arm of the couch and a pillow, sliding the remote to her with my left.

"There's nothing on," I answered when she looked up. "Watch whatever you want."

She flipped a few channels, landing on a movie. Slipping the black elastic off her wrist, Bella tied her hair up in a loose ponytail. She wasn't wearing the same shirt she had on when we left this morning. It was too big on her and tied in a knot behind her back. My swollen fist clenched. Minutes passed, but she didn't say a word. There was a clock ticking in my head, the sound picking at every nerve.

"You know, next time you could at least give me a heads up before I waste my time standing outside your class to pick you up." I put my feet up on the coffee table, staring at the television.

"The way I heard it," she replied flatly, "you ditched me first. Jake came by while Alice and I were waiting for you."

"So it's tit for tat, huh? I was being punished?"

"If that's the way you want to look at it." She took a bite of her sandwich, refusing to look at me.

"Didn't he at least buy you dinner first? You should have told me you hadn't eaten. I would have saved some stir fry."

"I'd rather starve than choke down your cooking." She sat back, pulling her legs up as she sat her plate on her lap."

Her statement struck a nerve, an old wound that I preferred not to think about. I could only assume she'd done that on purpose. "Alice cooked."

"Of course she did." I didn't look, but I felt Bella roll her eyes.

"You hate ham," I accused, now staring at her sandwich. "Why are you eating that?"

"Because this is all there was." Bella turned in my direction, glaring at me with those potent brown eyes. "I would have preferred turkey, but turkey was unavailable, so I settled for ham."

"You were out Sunday, remember? We could have gone grocery shopping, but you took off."

"And you could have put on your big boy pants and gone to the store on your own. Why do I have to instigate the trip?"

"You're the one who needed turkey." I was blatantly aware how fuck-stupid this conversation was, but I couldn't seem to stop myself from stooping to increasingly childish levels.

"Right. I needed turkey," she muttered and turned away to take a bite out of the ham sandwich that I knew she wasn't enjoying. "And you were content to do without it."

I sat there, bitter and ready to drag this argument out, but I didn't know what else I had to say on the subject of turkey and grocery shopping. Before I started all this, I'd intended to talk to her about Lauren, ask how she was feeling about the whole thing and assure her that I'd take care of it. Now seemed like the wrong time.

"And you can stop hiding your hand," Punky announced as she finished the last of her sandwich. I grabbed her plate off her lap with my right hand, letting her see the bloody, broken skin discolored and swollen. She took notice, her eyes large. "Edward." My name was a whisper, which I ignored as I took her dish into the kitchen.

A while later, I was in my room and contemplating having a go at The Stranger, since my right hand was fucking useless, when Bella appeared in my doorway. She wore my TOOL sweater, little hidden shorts that drove me crazy, and carried a first-aid kit. The red box was conveniently located just at the apex of her thighs, allowing me the opportunity to take a long, appreciative look at her legs without being obviously out it.

"You going to come play nurse for me?" I smirked, raising an eyebrow as I tongued my lip ring.

"Your dad said I need to amputate," she quipped. "But all I have is this dull, rusty spoon, some NyQuil to put you out, and this popsicle stick to bite down on."

"Brilliant. I'm getting excited already."

Bella proceeded me into the bathroom, so I followed after her and took a seat on the toilet with the lid down. Meticulously, she took out little packets of alcohol swabs, gauze, scissors, and Neosporin. She washed her hands, rolling up her sleeves like she was going into surgery. I couldn't help but smile and laugh a little at the show.

"What?" She snapped irritably, scowling at me as she dried her hands.

"Nothing," I shook my had, biting back a smirk and trying for an innocent expression. "You're adorable."

"Get bent," she scoffed. "Keep it up and I'll make this hurt. Your choice. Easy way or the hard way."

Ah, Punky. If she continued in that tone of voice, it was going to be the hard way no matter if I behaved or not. It wasn't my fault that my dick had a thing for her sassy mouth. "I'll be good," I promised. "Have at me."

Contrary to her attitude, Bella kneeled down in front of me and gently placed my hand on my leg while she lightly swabbed the skin with the alcohol wipes. It stung like a motherfucker, but I locked that shit down and toyed with my tongue piercing while telling myself not to wince at the pain. Instead, I concentrated on the top of Bella's brunette head, her hands holding mine and occasionally brushing my thigh. Now would be a terrible time to sport a hard-on.

"Do I want to know how this happened?" She looked up, her eyes no longer throwing daggers, but all soft and concerned.

"I picked a fight with the spare tire on Emmett's Jeep."

"I think you lost." She tossed the alcohol wipes and wrappers in the trash, reaching up for the Neosporin. "But what started the scuffle between you and the inanimate object?"

I didn't answer. I didn't want to have to say it. Just thinking about it made the back of my throat fill with acid. I wanted to break the nose of every jackass who'd even heard the rumor. I wanted to castrate anyone who considered for a minute that it might be true. And just for good measure, I'd toss Jake and his friends off a cliff for having been mentioned in the same damn sentence.

"Ah," she nodded. "So you heard."

"I heard."

"Should I be expecting a call from Charlie or the campus police asking you to turn yourself in?" She reached up for the gauze, unraveling a section to wrap around my knuckles.

"No. I do have some self-restraint."

"I can see that," she smiled sarcastically. With the job done, she cut off the excess gauze and taped it down.

Bella stood, but I caught her wrists and pulled her closer, bringing her between my legs. I was at eye level with her tits, no matter that they were concealed behind the thick sweater. I wanted to lean in and rest my head against her chest, breathe her in, and just absorb the feeling of her body tucked to mine. Even picturing the embrace calmed me and I took a deep breath as I looked at her small hands.

"Edward?" Her voice was soft, small. I met her eyes, but couldn't discern the expression behind them. She had dark, deep eyes that were so expressive when she wanted to be, and also so adept at hiding from me.

"I want to fix this," I told her earnestly. "Tell me how."

"I wish it were that easy," she sighed.

Bella pulled her hands away and I released her. Rather than retreat from me, she placed her hands on my shoulders, her body swaying just slightly closer to mine as I instinctively reciprocated. My skin tingled, an excited feeling running down my spine.

"It's gone on like this for too long and it will only get worse unless I do something about it." Tentatively, fearing for my nuts but aching to touch her, I raised my hands to her slender waist. She stepped closer, allowing me to flex my fingers around the small of her back. "What can I do?"

She remained silent, running her fingers into my hair at the back of my head while tilting her forehead down to press against mine. She was breathing heavily, my heart was pounding. I suddenly couldn't remember how we'd come to be so close. Her lips were just a whisper from mine, I could practically taste her. I wanted to. When she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, I saw a fantasy of tugging it loose and licking the plump little thing that had teased me for years.

I pulled her flush against my body and wrapped my arms fully behind her back, hugging her tightly for fear I'd never get another chance to feel her warm and pliable in my arms. Bella sucked in a shaky breath, but sort of lulled into me, her fingers brushing backward against the grain at the nape of my neck. Fuck that felt good.

"I can't stand watching someone hurt you, Bella. Especially someone like Lauren."

Her body went rigid. Abruptly, Bella backed away from me and completely out of reach. She hurriedly gathered the first-aid kit without looking at me.

"What? What did I do?" I reached for her, but she recoiled.

"Nothing," she shrugged casually, but I didn't buy it for a second. "You're all patched up. I'll just, umm..." She looked at the door with a flat, impassive expression. "I'm going to start locking up."

"I'll—"

"No. Just let me do it."

She disappeared, leaving me dumbfounded and bereft. I had no fucking clue what had just happened, but I felt as though I'd missed some important sign warning me I was about to drive right off the cliff. A few minutes later, Bella walked into my room, checked the locks, and left without saying a word or once acknowledging me. I shut my door, turned out the lights, and didn't sleep at all.


	20. Chapter 20

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **I'm happy to announce that **The Debt** has been nominated for an **Engergize W.I.P Award** in the "**Most Promising Twilight Fanfiction ~ Canon**" category. Voting is now open: www*energizewipawards*blogspot*com

Also, **Rare Purity** is up on **The Lemonade Stand's weekly poll**.

**NEED YOUR INPUT: **I'm constantly fascinated that so many of you have widely varying views on Edward and Bella, as well as their motivations. Many of you have also expressed confusion. Mostly, that's intentional. These characters don't know what they're doing, and neither do you. I'm trying to create a sense of instability. That said, I don't want to get to the end and leave you all still wondering what the hell just happened. So, send me your reviews, your PMs, your tweets, and your Tumblr questions letting me know what you still need answered if you feel like you are just totally lost. if I feel that I haven't sufficiently given that info in the previous chapters (and it doesn't constitute a spoiler) I will write back and try to work the little bits into the story going forward. I don't like to force-feed my readers, but I do want you all to feel like you're in the know.

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**Chapter 20: 2.4 mm**

**"That's it. Fast and painful."**

TWO YEARS AGO

Following our rehearsal, which Tyler had skipped out on early, I followed Emmett and Jasper inside from the garage. Jasper headed for the living room while Em started foraging around in the kitchen.

"You guys hungry?" I grabbed a bottle of water, glancing between the two rooms from the foyer at the foot of the stairs. "We could order a pizza."

"Two pizzas," Emmett called with his head in the refrigerator. "Large."

Jasper propped his feet up on the coffee table and turned on the TV, looking at me over his shoulder. "Is Bella home yet?"

"I think so." I wiped my face with my shirt, pulling it off when I got a good whiff of myself. "I'm going to clean up and see if she's upstairs."

"Three pizzas," Emmett amended. He took out a Tupperware of Punky's lasagna from last night and popped it in the microwave. It was an appetizer where he was concerned.

In my bathroom, I splashed some water on my face and hair, grabbing the washcloth out of the shower to wipe down my chest and neck. The dirty shirt was discarded in the corner with a large pile that comprised the laundry I'd put off for the last week. I heard voices coming from the other side of the wall, Bella's Room, and figured she was watching TV. Out of habit, I knocked on the wall. "We're ordering pizza," I announced loudly.

When we were kids, Bella would often spend the night at my house when Charlie was working late. After bargaining to stay up just one hour, thirty minutes, and then ten miuntes longer, my parents would finally shove us in our rooms and order us to bed. My parents' room was on the first floor at the other side of the house. So for hours following the designated bedtime, Punky and I would sit on either side of the wall between our rooms and talk. I'd play music for her, we'd play Battleship, and sometimes we'd fall asleep on the floor with our ears pressed to the drywall.

For that reason, I knew she'd heard me when I shouted well over a conversational level to get her attention. I could still hear voices, which meant she was either ignoring me or maybe had her ear buds in. I never understood why she left the TV on while listening to music, but she always had her iPod going while she sketched.

Her door was closed, but I didn't bother knocking. I learned a very valuable lesson that night. And so did the Punkyfucker I found shoving his dick in the girl I'd made love to and walked out on.

"Edward!"

"What? Baby, did you—" He didn't get to finish that sentence.

Bella shoved at him, pushing him back as his tiny pecker slipped out of her. I watched her scurry up the bed with a look of horror on her face, but she made no move to hide her naked body from me. I had certainly seen it before. Granted, sixteen-year-old Bella was enough to make me come in my pants just thinking about her, but at nineteen? Goddamn.

I already had the Punkyfucker in a headlock and in the hallway by the time I ripped my eyes from her tits. The skinny bastard struggled, so I reached around with a jab that shut him up. Holding him upright enough to make it to the foot of the stairs—I should have just tossed him down the two flights, but hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that—I walked him in front of me. Jasper and Emmett came running into the foyer from either side, gaping at the naked and bleeding asshat I was in the process of escorting out of my house.

"Who the fuck is this guy?"

"Edward, what are—"

"Edward! You sonofabitch. Let him go!"

Two flights of stairs was apparently how long it took Bella to throw some clothes on and come after me. I ignored her. And since neither Em nor Jasper was in a big rush to wrestle a naked dude away from me, they parted to clear my path to the front door. I threw the guy on the porch, watching as he stumbled on scrawny legs down the front steps before he caught his breath and balance.

"Memorize my face," I growled at him. "The next time you see it or her, run the other way."

He stood cupping his junk at the bottom of the stairs, his feet unsteady on the loose dirt and gravel of the driveway. I slammed the door before he could speak. Bella was right behind me, dressed in a tiny pair of shorts and a T-shirt. It didn't matter, I still saw every inch of her pale skin exposed, her full tits, pink nipples, and soft cunt that I could practically feel squeezing my dick like a phantom fuck from so long ago.

"You are out of your fucking mind," she screamed at me. One hand exaggeratedly flailed in the air to accentuate how far from my head my good sense had traveled.

"Are those his clothes?" I nodded at her other hand holding a wadded up mess of dark denim and white cotton. Bella's eyes grew large with her incredulous expression. I grabbed the clothes, opened the door without looking past the threshold, and tossed them out. "There," I snapped at her. "Better?"

"No, shithead," she yelled. "I can't believe you'd—"

"Would and did." I leaned against the door, crossing my arms and scowling right back. "I have witnesses." My eyes met with Emmett and Jasper, who were keeping their distance behind Bella. "Go, spread the word, and let it be known throughout the land—"

She smacked me. Hard. Slapped the callous, sarcastic remark right off my lips. My entire body went rigid. My face was hot from where she'd hit me, my fists clenched with rage. Jasper jumped between us and put Bella behind him. Emmett grabbed my shoulder in one strong hand, planting me in place. She fought against Jasper, screaming at me, but I didn't hear most of it past the anger and blood rushing between my ears.

"I'm never going to forgive you for this," she swore. "Just because you can't get any, it doesn't mean I shouldn't. You did this to yourself, you bastard. You! Remember that, Edward." Her eyes were vivid, dark, and deadly as she stared right through me.

"Let's go." Emmett opened the door behind me, poking his head out to make sure the Punkyfucker was gone. "Come on, man. Let her cool off." He wrapped his arm over my shoulder, pushing me out the front door barefoot and shirtless. We quickly hopped in his Jeep and I let Emmett cart me off, my brain fried and my heart dissected on the floor of the foyer.

We were silent as Emmett drove down the two-lane road surrounded by the dark forest on either side. The only sound passing my ears was the wind rushing through the vehicle and the echo of the barbell in my tongue flicking rapidly between my teeth. With the windows down, I sucked in as much fresh air as my lungs would take, but my chest was painfully tight. No matter how I commanded my body to relax, I couldn't pry my fingers from my clenched palms.

My eyes burned as I fought not to close them. Not that it mattered. Open or otherwise, all I saw was the bastard levered over her, Bella's legs around his hips, and her head tossed back with her lip between her teeth. My stomach turned violently, cold sweat coating my skin.

"Pull over," I demanded.

Emmett looked at me, worry and sympathy evident in his expression. "Edward, I think you need—"

"Now," I barked. I unlatched my seatbelt and grabbed the door handle. "Pull over, man."

He drifted to the side of the road, quickly coming to a stop in the darkness with only his headlights illuminating my path to the tree line. I bolted from the Jeep, bracing one hand on a tree and the other on my thigh as I vomited. My stomach heaved viciously, tossing out its full contents in two, three, and four forceful convulsions. I stood there for a while, gasping for air and spitting the vile taste from my mouth. My head pounded, throbbing at my temples.

"You okay?" Emmett came up behind me, still giving me a wide berth.

"Yeah," I nodded and stood up straight. "I just—"

"I know. Don't sweat it."

When I turned around, Em tossed me a rag and a bottle of water. I wiped off my mouth and chin, stuffing the rag in my back pocket. Taking mouthfuls of water, I swished and spit until the taste was gone. My muscles were still tense, my skin still too hot and too cold at the same time, but I was feeling somewhat better.

"Thank you."

"You got it, brother." Together, Em and I leaned against the side of his Jeep, both of us staring at the black forest ahead. "What do you want to do now?" He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, putting his hands behind his head. "The range is still open for a couple hours."

"Probably shouldn't give me a firearm right now," I deadpanned. Em chuckled, nudging my shoulder.

"We could hit up the bar by my place. They won't card us."

"Nah. I'd start a fight, you'd have to jump in and save my ass, and then Charlie would have to come pull us out of the drunk tank."

"You could go take a freezing dip in the Pacific."

It wasn't a bad idea, all things considered. At the very least, sitting down by the water and letting my mind clear was probably the most peaceful way to get my head on straight. But seeing as how it was still a little crooked and discombobulated at the moment, I opted for something completely fucked instead.

"Take me to Sam's shop."

Emmett turned, his brows were furrowed as he appraised me. "You want to get inked now? Isn't there a rule about that or something?"

"Probably," I agreed. "There should be." Never get something permanently engraved on your body with a broken heart. I jumped in the Jeep, answering Emmett over my shoulder. "But I'm not getting inked."

At the time, it made perfect sense. The closer we got to Sam's shop, the more the confidence to follow through solidified in my mind. Looking back on that night, there was no way I could argue that the act was anything but an exercise in flagellation. I had taken Bella's words inside my body and to the very core of my soul. I made them part of me because they were the words with which I'd admonished myself so many times. They were so true in my heart; they were a part of me. The act itself was punishment, but like any good masochist, I found pleasure in the result.

"As your friend," Emmett pronounced slowly with his hands gripping both my shoulders and his dark eyes begging mine, "as your brother, I'm telling you not to do this. It isn't worth it."

"It's cool, Em." I cracked a smile. I was probably a little drunk on adrenaline by that point. I pried his hands from me and backed up. "She's a professional. Leah is going to take real good care of me."

"You're going to regret this," he warned. "Let me get you drunk. Fuck, I'll get you high if that will make you feel better. I'll take you out back and knock you around a bit if you just want it to hurt. But don't go back there with that chick and let her do unnatural things to your dick."

"I can hear you," Leah reminded him from the back of the shop. "You want to be next, Emmett?"

He shivered, cupping his crotch and backing away. "I'm not watching this."

"Good," I laughed. "I love you, Em, but I don't need and audience."

"I'm going outside. Maybe across the street. I don't want to hear the screams."

With that, Emmett shoved through the front door, the bell overhead signaling his retreat. I took a deep breath, preparing myself. Time to soldier up. I walked to the little room at the back of the shop, reclining in the cushioned chair. While Leah closed the door and yanked on a pair of latex gloves, I pulled open my jeans and slid them with my boxers down enough to pull out my cock.

She opened the little plastic packages, taking out her sterile torture implements and preparing them on the cart next to her stool. Leah's eyes finally landed on my dick. "Well damn," she remarked with a smirk. "That's a nice piece of equipment."

Some might have found the comment completely unprofessional. I wasn't sure her husband would have appreciated it. However, the compliment managed to relax me, which was likely her intent. Sort of like how Hooters waitresses call every guy Sugar or Big Daddy or some other shit like that. I shifted my hips, finding a comfortable position with my arms limp at my side.

"I need to measure so that I can choose the proper length for the piercing," she told me.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Go ahead."

"Edward," she said my name slowly with a note of seriousness. "I need you to be erect. If the barbell is too short, you're going to be in a world of pain the first time you get hard."

"Right. That makes sense." I watched her face for a moment, waiting to see if she'd speak first. "Do I just—"

"I'll step out. You just call when you're ready." Leah walked out, closing the door behind her. I was left with my flaccid dick hanging out of my pants and a lost look on my face.

I had considered getting the apadravya for a while. I had done the research on healing and care after the fact. I knew it was going to hurt like a motherfucker. I had apparently skipped over the part where I had to jerk off in the shop. I wondered if other men had sat in this reclined chair—like at a dentist's office—and tugged it. That launched me right off the thing. I stood in the middle of the small room with my pants open around my hips. Every black wall was covered in sketches and various photos of happy customers; among them were a few images of disembodied breasts with little rings or barbells in them. Those weren't bad. In any case, I had to just get this over with.

Trying my best to completely clear my mind and let the physical cause initiate the natural effect, I reached down and massaged my limp cock. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply as I stroked myself with one hand and cupped my sac with the other. For a brief moment, I felt the recent disaster try to invade my mind, but I shoved it aside. Instead, it was I spread over Bella's naked, writhing body. It was my lips at her neck, my back that her nails dragged down. I pumped myself, imagining the wet sound of her pussy as I slid in and out, filling her on every thrust.

Bella whimpered beneath me, rolling her hips in time with mine, riding me as I drove inside her warm, tight little cunt. Her breasts heaved against my chest on every gasp of air. I could smell her all over me, that sweet, musky scent of her arousal sinking into my skin as I penetrated her. She was so slick, her pussy soft and fluttering around my cock. Her snug channel was like a perfectly tailored glove made just for me.

My balls tightened as a hot sensation ran down my spine. I realized I was about to shoot off before I stopped and took several deep breaths. I hung fully hard and throbbing, no release in sight. Shoving it back inside my boxers, I poked my head out the door and called Leah back in. She was only the second chick I'd ever let see my junk—a profound moment for me at nineteen. Except this woman was about to put a new hole in the head of cock. I had to remind myself that I was volunteering for this.

She glanced at my hard-on as she quickly closed and locked the door behind her. Unwrapping a marker-type thing from plastic package, she sat down on her rolling stool and slid over in front of me. I reached in and pulled it out, letting it hang in front of her face. It jumped at little. Fucking embarrassing. But Leah didn't make a face, just going about her business to measure the distance from the underside of the head to the top. With the marker, she drew two tiny points on either end.

"This is going to look really good. I promise." She fiddled around with her instruments for a bit before sliding her stool over again. Holding up a cotton swab soaked in alcohol, Leah gestured at my junk. "You want to do this part? The area needs to be cleaned."

"Have at it," I told her. "Let's just get it over with."

Without any fanfare, she swabbed around the head of my dick and then up and down the shaft. I winced a little when she headed for my scrotum next. It was cold, the antiseptic tingling the hypersensitive skin. "Okay. This is going to hurt. A lot. But I am very quick," she explained. "Go ahead and lie back down."

I glanced at the chair with trepidation. It was covered in that paper similar to the examination bench at a doctor's office, but it still irked me a little.

"We clean all the chairs after every session. You know we take sanitation seriously."

True enough. Sam ran a good shop and he'd worked on me enough that I knew I could trust him. I swallowed down a mouthful of nothing and hopped up there, relaxing the best I could.

"So…" Leah rolled her stool over and looked me in the eyes as she gave me the rundown. "I'm going to place a clamp over the head over your penis. I'll use this needled to pierce right through the marks I made and then I'll slip the bar through. That's it. Fast and painful."

Her smile was light and encouraging, easing me a bit further as I laughed out a nervous breath. "You want something to bite down on?"

"No. I'll suck it up."

"Don't bite your tongue, because I promise you, you'll chomp right through it. And if you kick me, I'll stab you in the eye."

I laughed again, promising to keep my shit together. Preparing myself, I adjusted in the chair once more and nodded that I was ready.

"Okay, deep breath. And let it out," she instructed as she applied the clamp, which was uncomfortable but not painful. Making sure that she was properly lined up to the marks she'd left, Leah held up the needle. "This is worst of it. Lock it down, Cullen." I steeled myself, knowing I had no concept of how bad this was going to suck. "Deep breath," she repeated. I filled my lungs. "And let it—"

"Fuck!" All the air left me as the needle stabbed through my cock and was immediately replaced with the barbell. My eyes clenched shut. From there, I felt nothing but the lingering agony.

A few minutes later, I was cleaned off, bandaged—my cock bled like Carrie in the shower scene—and gingerly putting my pants back on.

In the lobby, I found Emmett sitting nervously with his knee bouncing. He looked like a terrified about-to-be daddy who'd been kicked out of the delivery room.

"You did it?" Emmett wouldn't look at me; seemingly afraid I was strutting around with my cock hanging out and a huge, angry piece of metal sticking out from both ends.

"Piece of cake," I shrugged. "Didn't hurt a bit."

My dick took five months to fully heal.


	21. Chapter 21

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Chapter 21: Nevermind**

**"You totally libido her."**

TWO YEARS AGO (CONTINUED)

"I bet now you want that drink," Emmett laughed. "I can't believe you went through with it." He spoke over his shoulder, not looking at me while I very carefully stripped out of my jeans.

The ride from Sam's shop to La Push had been brutal on my recently wounded dick. Every pothole felt like a hammer going to town on my shit. My cock throbbed, and not in a good way. I seriously questioned the wisdom of the sadistic act I had allowed Leah to perform on me. Fucking bitch. I didn't mean that, of course. But just the same—fucking cock-stabbing bitch.

Now dressed only in my boxers, I sat next to Emmett on the bench that overlooked the beach below. It was nearly pitch black outside, but the waves reflected the glowing moon overhead, casting the landscape in a silver wash. It was windy and I was practically naked, but freezing my ass off was still better than going home. The barbell in my tongue clicked against my teeth as I contemplated what awaited me there.

"They say it's supposed to feel pretty goddamn great when you fuck," I offered up in my own defense.

At the moment, however, I questioned whether my cock would ever function again. Just the thought of getting a hard-on and trying to stick it inside something so confining as a tight pussy, pushing and pulling, was enough to make me nauseous. Maybe I wasn't technically a eunuch, but I might have just turned myself into a monk.

Emmett looked at me with pity.

"Don't do that," I warned him. He didn't have to say it, so I rather he not. "I'm just saying eventually. At some point." He stared at me flatly, which was actually worse than pity. "Oh fuck it." My fingers ran through my hair, scratching at the back of my neck. "I'm not there yet, okay? It's only been—"

"Three years," he answered abruptly. "You told her to move on and she did. Maybe you should stop kicking yourself and do the same."

"That wasn't moving on," I grumbled. "That was—I don't know—punishment. Where the did she even find that guy? When's the last time you saw Punky hold a conversation with someone outside the three of us? For that matter, why would she bring him to the house if it wasn't to shove him in my face?"

"Those are all good questions. But I think you should stop and consider for a minute that maybe it isn't about you."

"Of course it's about me. It about us, what I did to her, and the fact that she's stuck with me when she'd rather use my skull as a decorative vase."

"What Bella said was harsh," he admitted, "but you know she didn't mean it. She was pissed. Dude, you were totally out of hand back there. This is hand," he held out one arm at full length and waved, "and you were way over here," he gestured with the other stretched out to the opposite side like he was singing "We Are The World" or some shit.

The effect was somewhat comical, so I laughed a little despite myself. That was a terrible fucking idea. I doubled over, groaning as the slight movement in my abdomen sent a fresh shot of agony to my dick. Fuck, I was pathetic. All because I'd caught my Punky in bed with some dipshit.

"Seriously, Edward, what got into you? And why the hell would putting a hole in your dick be the answer?"

"I'm in love with her," I admitted. It was the first time I had said the words out loud to anyone except my parents. I never told her. "Pretty much always have been."

Emmett sat silently for a long time. He stared at me, whether dumbfounded or just trying to formulate a response. When he finally spoke, his entire demeanor shifted. "My mom used to call me retarded," he informed me softly. "Those are pretty much my only memories of her. She'd yell at me, push me around, and call me a stupid retard. When she left us, I didn't really understand at first. I was too young, right? But one day she wasn't there, and the next, and so on. I remember being really happy every time I woke up and she wasn't sitting in the kitchen. She used to flick her cigarette ashes in my cereal while I was eating."

In bluish darkness, I watched Emmett's profile as he stared out toward the water. His shoulders were hunched against the cold, his forearms on his thighs. My best friend took a deep breath and let it out. "My dad's a lousy drunk and a deadbeat. I know that. Because he couldn't hold a job for more than a few months at a time, I was always too big for my clothes and had to stand in the free lunch line while other kids made fun of me. But you know what my dad never did?" Emmett turned his head, looking me directly in the eyes. "He never called me a retard or stupid or made fun of me. He never acted like he wished I'd never been born. He's not a great man and hasn't been an award-winning dad, but he didn't go out of his way to make me feel like shit just for being alive."

I didn't know what to say. I'd had it bad in foster care. To some extent, I could relate to being treated like garbage for no other reason than you were taking up space. But since my parents brought me home and rescued me from that living nightmare, I had it really fucking good. My parents loved me. They gave me everything. And I had something that was more than all the clothes and toys and money Em's dad couldn't give him: I knew my parents were proud of me.

I could hardly think about Esme before my knee started to bounce and my palms got sweaty. My chest constricted around my heart as my throat closed. But I would rather endure the symptoms of having lost her than have never known her at all.

"Emmett, man. I'm so sorry. I didn't know." I put my arm around his shoulder, hugging him as if I could possibly make any of it any better. I couldn't, but I wished for it anyway.

"Because I never told you," he shrugged. "I've never told anyone. You know how Bella and I became friends?" He sat up so I let my arm fall back to me side. I shook my head once.

"In seventh grade we had the same lunch period. She saw me standing alone in the free line. Jordan Connors threw a roll of quarters at me. Like a joke, because I was the poor kid. Hit me right here." Emmett pointed to the scar on his left eyebrow. I hadn't known where it had come from or when. "Split right open and gushed like a motherfucker. My face was covered in blood and I freaked out. Bella saw it happen. She walked right up and kicked Jordan in the nuts. While he was doubled over and wailing like a baby, she yanked the kid's shirt over his head and used it to wipe my face off and hold it to the gash."

I started laughing—hysterically laughing so much my stomach hurt and my dick was in horrible agony. Nevertheless, I couldn't stop. It just so like Punky; infuriating and feisty as she was, like a goddamn superhero in Chuck Taylors. That also explained why she had been suspended from school for two weeks that year.

"You want me to go track that asshole down?" I took a few deep breaths, cupping my junk as I composed myself. "Maybe not right now," I admitted, "but when I can walk again, I'll kick his ass just for you."

"Nah," Em shook his head and shrugged. "By eighth grade I was a foot taller than him and about a good twenty pounds heavier. We played kickball in gym one day and I knocked him unconscious running to first base. I'd say that squared it. Anyway," he laughed, "Jordan never fucked with me after that day in the cafeteria."

"Well yeah. Any man in his right mind is scared shitless of Bella going all Xena Warrior Princess on his nuts."

"Except for the guy who puts a barbell in his dick."

"I guess you've got a point there," I conceded.

"So…" Emmett leveled his eyes with mine, reading my face like he was calculating some equation. "You want to tell me the real reason why you two used to be Bonnie and Clyde and now you're…whatever the fuck you are?"

I locked up, shutdown, and retreated back behind the gates. I was an asshole for not letting Emmett in, but that was just a part of me I couldn't open to anyone else. Emmett didn't push the issue, but I knew he was disappointed. After that, I asked him to take me home. I called Jasper on the way to get a sense of what I could expect when I got there.

"I actually just left. I was about to call you guys. How much trouble did you get into while you were out?"

"I'll tell you later." I didn't want to go through another round of it with Jasper. "How is she? Should I stop and pick up a Kevlar vest?"

"She's calmed down," he sighed. "I get why you lost it, but you really crossed a line. She had every right to beat you senseless."

"I know."

"Talk to her, Edward. Really sit down and talk to her."

"Yeah." I couldn't begin to formulate a plan as to how that conversation should go. Unfortunately, I didn't get much time to figure it out. Emmett dropped me off at my front door a few minutes later.

I walked inside with my bare feet covered in grime and my jeans in my hand. I looked at the stairs, seriously considering just crashing on the couch and not looking at my room again for a few weeks. But I wanted a shower and I needed to change the bandage on my battered cock. I was a fucking idiot. Not that I regretted the piercing, but I should have planned this one out a lot better. For starters, I didn't know how the fuck I was going to get through our show this week if it still hurt half as bad by Saturday night. Fuck me running.

When I finally managed to hobble my ass upstairs, Bella was sitting against my bedroom door.

"What happened to you?" She looked me over, frowning at my appearance.

"I let Leah pierce my cock." I opened the door and stepped around her. She clamored to her feet behind me as I went straight for the bathroom and started the faucet in the tub to wash my feet.

"You did what?"

"You heard me."

"Yeah, I heard you, but I don't believe it."

I turned around and pulled it out, letting her see my pen with a gauze cap on it.

"Shit, Edward. I didn't need to see that." But she didn't look away.

I tucked myself back inside my boxers and sat on the edge of the tub while I let the water run over my dirty feet. The warmth made me realize I hadn't felt my toes for a couple hours now. Bella reached past me to grab the bottle of body wash and squeeze it under the faucet until bubbles started to erupt around my feet. She sat down next to me, facing the sink behind my back.

"Why did you do this now?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Edward," Bella sighed in exasperation.

"I don't know. Why do I do any of the stupid shit I pull? I'm fucked up."

"Stop it." Bella grabbed my bicep, twisting me until I looked at her. "You can't use that excuse with me. Honestly, I'm sick and tired of hearing it. Tell me the truth."

I glared at her; those accusatory eyes that saw right through me. "The same reason I asked you to draw this," I pointed at the raven on my chest. "The same reason I got the fucking tattoo. The same reason I pulled that sweaty dipshit off of you. What magic truth do you think there is?"

Bella bowed her head, exhaling as she closed her eyes and took her hand from my arm. "You should go back to therapy."

"Pass."

"I mean it."

"You first."

We were both silent for a while. That had escalated quickly, as was typical. Any time we tried to make up and play nice after an argument, it just turned into a worse fight. We taunted each other, picking at the scabs that only we knew how to find. It was our pattern, and the same reason why we had never—probably would never—get to the part where we talked about the night I'd left her.

I couldn't fathom a day that I'd ever be able to look her in the eyes and give her the real reason. For that matter, I think her patience with hearing a reasonable excuse had long since evaporated. I'd missed my window of opportunity a long time ago.

"I'm sorry for the things I said to you," she professed softly. "Really, really sorry, Edward. I was angry, but I didn't mean it."

"Yeah you did," I sighed in resignation.

"What I said was hitting below the belt. That really wasn't what I meant. I wasn't talking about…" Bella placed her hand on my shoulder. I looked down at her slender fingers against my skin and followed the trail up her arm and to her face. There was no denying the sincere regret behind her sad eyes. "I would never, ever use that against you. Never. I'm sorry because I know that's how it sounded, but I wasn't thinking. I was just so mad and embarrassed and—"

"I know. I'm not angry with you. Yeah," I admitted as I turned my eyes back to the water rushing around the tub, "it hurt like hell. Worse than getting slapped across the face. Please don't do that again."

Bella nodded, squeezing my shoulder. "That was out of line. I'm sorry. I—no. No excuse. I shouldn't have done that, Edward."

"But I deserved it."

"No, you didn't," she insisted.

"Oh yeah, I did. Because I'm sorry I hurt you and made you feel embarrassed in your own home." I looked up, meeting her eyes so that she could see the honesty behind my words. "I deserved it because I'm not sorry about him. I'd do it again. That's just the truth."

"It still bothers you that much?"

Watching some guy screw the girl I loved? "Yeah. It really fucking bothers me." There. That was honesty. That was opening up. And it made me nauseous.

"And you won't go back to therapy?"

"Not a goddamn chance."

"Then maybe it's time you try."

Bella slid her hand to the back of my neck and rubbed her thumb back and forth under my ear. There was an odd expression on her face that I couldn't read. It was sort of solemn and hopeful all at the same time. My heart started to pound against my chest because, for just a second, I thought she might kiss me.

Just like that? All could be forgiven and she'd just take me back if I stopped acting like a jackass all the time?

"How?"

I'd do anything if we could just sweep it all under the rug and pretend it had never happened. Fuck, if she took me back, I guess I could consider going back to therapy if only so I could make love to her without wanting to tear my skin off. I could jerk off just fine. I could have all sorts of filthy fantasies about the things I wanted to do to Bella. But that moment when I had pulled out—I'd never felt a girl up so never mind carrying condoms—and came on her stomach, I'd completely lost my shit. I couldn't go through that again. I couldn't put her through that.

"Open yourself up a little. Meet someone. You deserve to be happy, Edward. Don't let him keep that from you forever. Maybe if you tried, you could find a way to get past whatever it is that you're feeling."

She got up, squeezed my shoulder, and walked out. I stared after her for while before it finally sank in. Bella wasn't offering me a way back to her, she was pointing the way out. I would have preferred she slapped me again.

PRESENT DAY

Coltrane was dead to me. Okay, he was dead to everyone. But in the philosophical sense, in the metaphorical meaning that a person no longer exists within your realm of consciousness, John Coltrane had been bludgeoned over the head with a shovel, dragged lifeless and limp to a hastily dug grave, tossed in and forgotten, and then covered with 126 cubic feet of earth.

I would never again appreciate the subtle nuance and clever improvisation of a master of his craft. One more stale rendition of "Blue Train" and I would puncture both of my eardrums happily. Seated next to the nine other members of my jazz composition course, I held up my hand to put an end to this appalling assault on Trane's legacy.

Blessedly, Number Seventeen pulled his sloppy lips from the reed and let his saxophone hang from his neck. My classmates looked at me curiously, all leaning forward to stare down the length of the rectangular table at which I sat at the end.

"I've heard all I can stand," I announced. "Let's decide."

"There are two bassists, a keyboardist, and three drummers left to audition." Roger, an over-achiever and consummate kiss-ass, appeared incredulous as he held up the audition roster. "We've got the room for another thirty minutes."

The culmination of the class at the end of the semester would be a showcase of original songs composed by the students. As such, each of us was required to audition and select musicians to learn and perform the music. Unfortunately, I was sorely behind on my part of that arrangement. I hadn't written a complete song—for class or otherwise—in weeks. I had bits and pieces, but nothing cohesive or even half good.

"I have my top ten," Andrea spoke up. "I'm okay if we cut out early."

"Actually, I was hoping we could bring in a few of the guitarists for a callback."

"Yeah. Hey, can we see the first and fifth percussionists again?"

While the poor analogue for a sax player stood awkwardly at the front of the room licking his lips, my classmates descended into debate.

For the last hour, I had endured a repetitive "best of" playlist from the likes of Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk, Buddy Rich, and He Who Shall Not Be Named. I simply couldn't take it anymore. Like eating too much spicy food in one sitting, my pallet was shot, burnt to the point of being numb and ineffectual. I had a headache, but more annoying was that no matter the noise coming from the musician at the front of the room, that incessant phantom song continued to plague me. It begged to be noticed and transcribed, but refused to reveal itself to me.

Fuck this nonsense.

I quickly jotted down ten numbers on the back of the form I was supposed to use to evaluate and rate each musician on a scale of one to five. The parade of lackluster auditions were all enrolled in the jazz performance course—a sort of companion class to this one—and our reviews were intended to give them constructive feedback. I didn't have that kind of interest or patience.

"Here." I smacked the paper down in the center of the table as I stood. "That's my order of preference for each instrument. I want at least three of my tops picks. The rest I could give a fuck about."

I left before anyone had a chance to argue. I needed to head over to Jupiter and pick up the new pedal I'd ordered and the drumheads that Emmett had been waiting on. For that reason, I decided to just blow off the rest of the day. My pocket buzzed as I crossed the lawn toward the parking lot. It was a text from Bella:

I'm over it for the day. Lunch?

Sometimes that girl really could read my mind.

Me too. Meet at the car.

When Punky arrived, I was sitting in the car with the radio on and the engine running. She roughly tossed her bag in the backseat, collapsed into the passenger side with a huff, and slammed the door behind her. I watched, careful not to laugh at her, while she wrestled with the seatbelt. She was in rare form, and I worried for the wellbeing of whoever had pissed her off today.

"You okay?" I turned down the radio, looking her over to figure out what kind of angry this was.

"Dr. Shaw called my charcoal collection plebeian and pedantic. I'm not even sure those two things can happen at the same time. It's fucking charcoal," she exclaimed. "I'm not using a lightsaber to cut diamonds, for fuck sake. But maybe I should have put a bigger set of tits on the trees in my landscape. Maybe then he'd appreciate the view. Oh, but Natalie has a golden ticket to the student exhibit because she wears little skirts, flashes her baby cave, and leans over her drawing desk with her plastic tits hanging out. Stupid cross-eyed, perspiring, opossum-crawled-up-his-ass-and-died, chauvinistic shitfucker!" Bella launched her fist out and punched my dashboard. "Damn it!" She grabbed her fist, curling her entire body around it.

"Damn, Punky. Stop poaching my gig." I pried her hand away, holding it in both of mine while I gently inspected her knuckles and fingers. My hand was still messed up and likely would be for a while after last night. "You might want to think twice about doing that again. You're not much of an artist without your dominant hand."

"Same goes for musicians," she shot back with a sassy smirk.

"Touché. We're quite a hapless pair." I kept softly rubbing her hand between mine absentmindedly. She didn't try to pull away and I didn't offer to surrender her appendage.

"So why did you call it quits for the day?"

"Professor Tanner called my jazz composition plebeian and pedantic?" Punky scowled and stuck her tongue out at me. "Bored, I guess. And listening to auditions gave me a headache."

"How's your set coming?"

"It isn't," I confessed.

"How come?"

I shrugged, watching my fingers trace over hers. "I guess I just suck at it."

"I wish I could suck that well at anything." I looked up, raising an eyebrow to Bella's choice of words. She rolled her eyes, pulling her hand back from mine. "Shut up, stupidhead. I want Thai food."

"Perfect."

Bella turned up the radio, "Bulls on Parade" blaring just for her like the universe had aligned to help alleviate her bad mood. I gunned the engine and tore ass out of the parking lot as the breeze filled the car and Punky bobbed her head, chanting along with the lyrics. Watching her out of the corner of my eye, I felt my own irritation subside.

xXx

"Hey, little man." I gave Kyle a high five as leaned against the front counter. Bella nodded at Von and waved hello to his grandson as she headed off to browse around. "What's the good word?"

"I can play 'Smells Like Teen Spirit,' but my mom says I'm too loud." Kyle reached up and pushed his dirty blonde hair out of his eye as he he fingered the callus builder in his palm. This kid wasn't fucking around. "But she says I'm not allowed to sing that song."

"Why not?"

"She says libidio is a bad word."

"You mean libido?"

"Yeah. That."

I laughed, looking up at Von as he pulled my new pedal out of the packaging. He shook his head, probably wondering again what had gone so wrong with his only daughter.

"What does libido mean?"

"Uh-huh, Cullen." Von pointed one thick finger at me. "You fill his head with this shit and then I have to hear about it from Kat. Lock it up."

"Sure, but you say shit in front of him."

"Yeah, but he hears worse than that at school. Save the vocabulary lesson for puberty, okay?" I winked at Kyle, taking a moment to inspect the pedal. Von set it back in the box and put everything in a bag for me. "You still looking for a replacement in your band?"

"Yeah. Why, is Kyle ready to start gigging? I'm not sure I can afford him."

"Ah man, that would be awesome!" He pushed his hair back again, looking excitedly at Von.

"You can't play in bars until you're at least thirteen," he answered gruffly. I bit back a laugh as Kyle deflated.

"Why aren't you in school, little man?"

"Dentist appointment. Mom let me skip the rest of the day to hang out with grandpa."

"You busy supervising or you want to jam for little while?"

Kyle's bright blue eyes lit up. He turned around, looking eagerly at Von.

"Whatever you want, kid. Pick something off the wall."

Kyle knew exactly what he wanted. He went straight for the baby blue Fender Mustang, the same kind Kurt Cobain often played. This kid really had been born in the wrong decade. I pulled down the Jag hanging next to it. Together, we found a spot in the amp room and plugged in, sitting on a pair of stools. By ear, Kyle tuned his guitar quickly until it sang in perfect pitch, then he cranked up the distortion.

"You take lead," I told him. "I'll do rhythm."

He propped one foot on the rung of the stool and counted us off. It really amazed me to watch him. He never looked at his fingers, he knew exactly where they were at all times. They slid so effortlessly and surely over the strings. It kind of surprised me that he had the muscle strength to hold down the chords without buzzing, but the kid really was a natural.

I sang as we played together through Nirvana's catalogue. It felt good; jamming for the fun of it with a kid who was still just discovering the music and learning about himself as a musician. He had that awe about him. Everything was still fascinating and new. I envied that. It was the way I had felt when I was first discovering the piano.

"I wish I could sing like you," he told me. "I don't sound that good."

"Practice. In rock, you don't really have to have a good voice, just an interesting one. Besides, you're voice is going to change as you get older."

He absently plucked at the strings, looking around the room. "She's pretty." Kyle nodded over my shoulder. I turned, but knew before I looked exactly where his eyes were.

"Yes she is." Bella had the same blue bass guitar over her shoulder that I'd seen her with the last time we were here. Her dark hair was tossed over one shoulder, her bottom lip between her teeth. She was beautiful. My fantasy incarnate.

"What's her name?"

"Bella."

"That means pretty, right?"

I turned back to Kyle, who looked at me innocently. "Yeah, basically."

"Is Bella your girlfriend?" He got that conspiratorial, sinister twinkle in his eye that all little kids had when asking such a question, as if discussing something dirty or taboo.

"No. She's my... We live togther."

"But you like her."

I narrowed my eyes at the kid. "We're friends."

"So she's your girl friend." He smiled widely, thinking he was so damn clever.

"What about you?"

"I'll let her be my girlfriend."

I couldn't help but laugh at that. I had the strange feeling I'd walked right into his little trap. Clever fucker.

"She's a little old for you." I set the guitar down and used the opportunity to steal another glance at Bella while she wasn't looking. "And I think you might be a too young to start dating."

"Do you guys kiss?"

"Kyle," I warned him gently. "That's not polite."

"My grandpa says being polite is just a fancy way of lying." Well fuck. I guess he had me there. Kyle leaned forward over his guitar, whispering "I think she likes you."

"Oh yeah? And why should I take the word of a little kid?"

"Because she keeps looking at you and smiling," he announced proudly. "Or she's smiling at me and wants to be my girlfriend."

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

Kyle laughed, pushing his hair back over his forehead. "You totally libido her."


	22. Chapter 22

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **This is a hump chapter. Oh, calm yourselves. Dirty girls. This one needed to happen to get to catalyst that will set off the rise to climax. And it took a hell of an effort to bang it out. I hope it's good for you. I'm exhausted. Now off to work on Rare Purity.

* * *

**Chapter 22: All just a little bit of history repeating**

**"...Would you get a tattoo of my teeth impressions?"**

Nothing. Hours of staring at black marks on straight lines, and I had nothing. Worse than nothing, actually. At one point I wrote sixteen bars of "Cocaine Blues" before it dawned on me that I was not Bob Dylan. Eighteen bars of some Thom Yorke song.

I didn't sleep last night. I wrote nothing—pages and pages of nothing while sitting in the dark after Bella had slammed the door on our conversation. So much nothing that my injured hand cramped to the point I could no longer hold a pen. The pencil didn't work either; there was something wrong with that pencil so I stuck it through the wall. It looked good there. Perhaps I could frame it and call it art, let the critics declare me a genius once more. I tried using my left hand.

On a stool in the garage, I sat staring at utter shitfuckery scrawled across the loose pages. When we got home from Jupiter, I had felt a little less irritable and disjointed. Something as simple as jamming with the kid and a nice meal with Punky had settled me somewhat. When I sequestered myself in here to work, I had every intention of making headway on my jazz composition. However, my headache returned with vengeance and the only music occupying my mind was the illusive tune I couldn't pin down.

At this point, I would have settled for writing anything that was previously unpublished. Three weeks ago I had more melodies and choruses than I had time to pen them to paper. Was it possible that I had exhausted my supply of talent? Was there simply a finite number of notational combinations that my consciousness could produce?

In the 1850s, Robert Schumann believed he was transcribing dictation from Schubert's ghost. He called the result _Theme_. At night, he heard choirs and the orchestrations of Beethoven.

Didn't David Berkowitz claim that he received orders to carry out his murders from the demon that possessed his neighbor's dog? What is the difference between listening for the song stuck in your head and a psychiatric hallucination? A .44 Bulldog revolver, apparently.

My hand shook, but I couldn't tell if it was my knee bouncing or the hours I'd lost without sleep. Maybe I was hungry. I didn't want to check the time and think about dinner because that felt like retreat, like giving up. Eating was a distraction I couldn't afford at the moment. How's that for a #firstworldproblem? In the foster home, I had to put Punky on my shoulders to reach the cabinets and search for food. We ate coffee grounds and then threw them up again. We licked the powder at the bottom of our bowls of Cheerios.

_"What are you playing?" I crossed the threshold into our music room, standing behind my mother as she tinkered on the piano. The room was bathed in soft sunlight that surrounded Esme in an angelic glow. She was always beautiful, but especially so when she played._

_"Oh nothing, just a little tune that's caught my attention. Apparently I was humming in my sleep last night." She laughed to herself, watching her fingers travel over the keys. "You know how it is. Once the bug has crawled in there, you just can't focus until it's out."_

_Her right hand meandered while her left played a minor chord. Quietly, I moved closer to the piano. Esme's back was straight and feet flat on the floor. Her shoulders were relaxed, but her expression was one of intense concentration. My mother looked like a painting, something Bella would have spent days to properly capture. Around the room, several of her canvases were hung or leaned against the walls. While I spent hours rehearsing, Bella would set up her easel in the corner._

_"I don't know," my mom sighed. "I haven't been able to get it right. My fingers aren't talking to my brain."_

_"Do that bit again," I encouraged as I sat next to her. "Yeah, like that," I said while taking the place of her right hand. "And we add in a little…" I demonstrated the improvisation, laying a new layer on her foundation._

_"I like that better," she smiled. "My brilliant boy." My mom kissed my temple, holding my cheek to hers._

Well, that was enough of that.

I abandoned the music and walked back inside the house. From the kitchen, I grabbed a glass of water and popped a couple Advil for my headache. Glancing at the clock over the stove, I saw that it was past 7:00. Usually, Bella would have started pulling dinner together by now. Thinking that maybe she was in her own creative cocoon, I headed toward the stairs to check on her. Passing through the foyer, I saw an unfamiliar pickup truck in the driveway.

"Jake, don't."

My attention jerked behind me to the hallway at the back of the house. It led to my dad's study, the master bedroom, and the music room. My breathing stopped as I listened for confirmation. I had learned this lesson once before: Thou shalt not barge into rooms at the sound of Bella's voice. Thing was, sound really carried in this house.

"I mean it. Don't. Let's just go."

Fuck it. I headed down the hallway.

"What's the big deal?"

"Please get up. We should—"

My feet stopped at the partially open door to the music room when I heard middle C ring out of my Bösendorfer grand piano. There he sat; the Punkyfucker perched on the bench where my mother had died. I hadn't stepped foot inside this room, hadn't even looked inside, since that day. Reluctantly, I pushed open the door.

Bella's large brown eyes found mine like a startled deer. "Edward."

My hands twitched at my sides and my heart pounded. "Get out."

Jake turned around, looking me over awkwardly. "Hey. I hope you—"

"Jake," Bella warned, "don't." Her eyes remained locked with mine, a tinge of knowing fear in her expression

"Get out," I repeated. "Now."

"He didn't know." Bella stepped toward me, but I backed away. "I just wanted to show him my—"

"No." I snapped my eyes shut and took a deep breath. My chest tightened painfully. "What right do you think you have to be in here? This is my goddamn house."

"I'm sorry. I only wanted—"

"She was my mother, Bella. Do you get that?"

"What's your problem, man? Take it easy." I ignored Jacob, leveling my glare at Bella's shell-shocked eyes.

"You live here," I stated flatly, "but this doesn't belong to you. You're just my tenant until you get your shit together and move on."

"Calm the fuck down." Jake abruptly stood, but Bella put her hand out and grabbed his arm. "Don't talk to her like that."

It was too late to take it back or quell the ire. Staring at the black centerpiece to my mother's memorial, I lashed out. "You play house with me, but this isn't your family," I continued in berating her. "You cook and clean and pretend you're her, but you're not. Get over yourself and get your dipshit fuck buddy out of my fucking house."

"Listen, asshole—"

"Jake, no." Bella turned her back to me and pressed both hands against Jacob's chest. "I'm sorry, but you need to go."

"What?" Incredulously, he gaped at her. "You're shitting me. No. Come on, I'll take you to Charlie's."

"No," she reiterated. "Please, just go. Please."

Jake scowled as he looked at me over her shoulder, but eventually stormed out of the room without another word. I waited until I heard the front door slam behind him.

"Stay out of here," I warned her. "And keep your toys in your own room."

xXx

That could have gone better. I came here because I was angry. During the hour-long drive into the city, I'd seethed with unresolved rage. I should have just hit the asshole, but in restraining myself I had only exacerbated the symptoms. Without an outlet—the three orders of Jameson hadn't done shit besides dulling my headache—I was a walking bad decision in need of a trigger.

In the dark hallway past the bathrooms, I held a fistful of her hair in one hand. With my back pressed to the drywall covered in posters and graffiti and my jeans open around my hips, I fucked the blonde's eager little mouth. She moaned around my cock, her fingers digging into my ass.

It had all started much the same way last year. Punky and I got into some major blowout after the band's set at The Nest. She left early, the bartender didn't card me, and I ended up with Tanya bent over the sink in the bathroom. Watching my reflection in the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. Drunk enough not to worry about the consequences, I wrapped Tanya's long hair around my wrist and smacked her ass red as I fucked her. She loved it. She got off on it. And that was the night I realized I was a depraved sonofabitch.

We were at it for a while, but I just couldn't come. It might have been the first time in history that a man ever faked an orgasm. I pulled out, quickly ripped off and disposed of the condom, and sent her on her happy way.

I pulled out of the blonde's mouth, slapping my dick against her cheek as she caught her breath and looked up at me with wild, hungry eyes. She licked my nuts, rolling them in her palm and sucking each one. She grabbed my cock in both hands, swallowing deeply. My head hit the wall with a groan as I felt the back of her throat constrict around me. Goddamn. I held her down, gagging her on my shaft.

Too drunk or just too stupid, I tugged her head back until just the tip was notched between her tight lips. I held her there, like she was trying to suck the barbell right out, as I shot off on her tongue. The images appeared behind my eyes, my stomach rolled as my cock twitched with the last of my release, and the incessant song played background to it all. Though my breathing was hurried and my skin crawled, I didn't have the overwhelming compulsion to throw up or curl into a ball. I just helped the girl stand, wiped her smudged lipstick off her chin, and said a quick goodbye before leaving her.

At the end of the hall, just as the door to the women's restroom swung open, I abruptly felt a strong surge of panic. I connected with dark brown eyes and a disapproving scowl.

Oh fuck me.

Jasper pushed past Alice. He shoved me up against the wall and decked me right on the chin. I deserved that.

With a handful of ice wrapped up in a rag and held to my jaw, I sat back in a chair at our usual table. The Nest was far less crowded on a Tuesday night, and the jukebox playlist was shit. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar redhead cozying up to a blonde guy with a ponytail and leather jacket. Across from me, Alice glared through thick eyeliner with her arms crossed angrily over her chest. Beside Tiny Tim, Jasper just looked disappointed. Well, disappointed and royally pissed off.

"Bella called," he informed me. "She told me what happened."

"Help me out here. Did you sucker punch me because I went off on her for letting her dildo sit at my mother's piano or because I got a blowjob on a weekday?" I was met with a face full of ice water, courtesy of Alice. What was it with girls and throwing drinks?

"You've got a lot of nerve, Edward." I wiped my face, flicking the excess water off my hands as Jasper settled in to let me have it. "That girl gave up her whole life for you, and you tell her you're her landlord? The hell, man? That's Bella, for fuck sake."

"What part of 'my mother died in that room' is so hard to understand?" My hands shook. Under the table, my knee bounced restlessly.

"So that gives you the right to treat her like shit?"

"She knew better."

"Give it a rest," he shot back. "No one could possibly live up to your rules and exacting standards at all times. There's nothing but eggshells around you."

"And yet here you are, tracking me down." I tongued my lip ring, at least a little thankful that Jasper hadn't aimed for my mouth.

"What's that?" Alice leaned forward, grabbing my injured hand.

"What?" I snatched it back. "You were there. I punched a tire."

"No." She ducked under the table and then grabbed my hand again. "This. Why are you shaking?"

"It's nothing." I stuck my hands under the table and forcibly held my knee down. It was as if doing so forced the anxiety into my throat instead. "I didn't eat dinner. I didn't sleep last night."

"This is bad," she directed at Jasper accusingly. "Really bad. Why haven't you done something about it?"

"I'm right here, Tiny Tim. Talk to me."

"He doesn't want to hear it," Jasper rebuffed her. "Leave it alone."

"Well no wonder you and Bella never talk unless you're yelling at each other." Alice planted her face in her hands, sighing exaggeratedly. "Is this just how it is? Everyone pussyfoots around you because they're too scared to call you on your shit or tell you that you seriously need help?"

"Hey," I laughed humorlessly, "I thought we were on the verge of riding off into the sunset together. What happened to being nice?"

"Fuck being nice." She raised her head, planting both elbows on the table. "This is me being your friend." She looked me straight in the eyes, though my vision was a little whiskey blurred at the moment. "Edward, you have severe post-traumatic stress and I'm guess a pretty nasty anxiety disorder."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the tabletop to mimic her posture. "Alice," I spoke gently and slowly, "you are astonishingly perceptive. Please tell me something I don't know."

She deflated, sitting back in her chair while chancing a glance at Jasper. "I told you," he shrugged. "Reason doesn't work on either of them."

Alice looked down at the stained table, picking at the nail polish on her index finger because her thumb was already picked over. "Bella was crying," she all but whispered.

"Punky doesn't cry." Out of the corner of my eye I saw the waitress walk by. I flagged her down and gestured for another drink.

"You're an idiot if you believe that," Alice asserted. "And yes, she was crying. But you know what's fucked up? She was mad at herself. Not for all the shitty, heartless things you said to her, but because she knew she'd touched a nerve. It was a mistake, Edward. Cut her a fucking break. She just wanted to show Jake—"

"Punkyfucker."

"—her paintings. Yes, I get it. He crossed an invisible line that he knew nothing about. You've got so many damn buttons that you might as well be mission control. But she didn't do anything to deserve the way you belittled and humiliated her." Alice tossed her hands up, exasperated and soaked in righteous indignation. "Oh, but you're the one who's suffering, so you come down here to drown your sorrows down some chick's throat. Classy, Edward. You're a real peach."

Well, that wasn't the plan when I walked through the door, it just happened that way. I only intended to get drunk alone until I was sure I could go home without breaking something.

"I suppose it's too late to claim she tripped and fell on my dick?"

The waitress came around and set a tumbler of dark liquid at my right, but my mind was still stuck on that one word: humiliated. I had humiliated Bella. In front of an outsider, I had berated her, chastised her, and done my damnedest to hurt her. I might as well have just knocked her across the chin. It would have hurt less and I would still have come out of it looking less like a loathsome jackass. Damn it.

Roughly, I ran both hands through my hair, tugging at the roots. Now I really needed to vomit. I stunk of Jameson, moldy hallways, and some kind of fruity perfume. My headache was back, or it had been there the whole time and I'd just been numb enough not to notice.

"She's hurting, Edward." Jasper leaned forward, softening his approach. "But Bella's more concerned about you. She only called me because she was worried. I don't know how many different ways I can say this. You need to talk to her. I'd start with crawling on your hands and knees, but then leave your bullshit at the door and have a conversation."

I turned my attention back to Alice. "How serious is this thing with Jacob?"

Her eyebrows shot up. Slowly, a secret smile curled up her Cheshire lips. "Oh honey, you have no idea. But I like that you're asking. That's good."

"Don't riddle me, Tiny Tim. Answer the question."

"They're very close. Either way, you're running out of time," she reiterated.

"What does that mean? For what? I'm not aware of a ticking clock."

"Then you two have a lot to talk about."

xXx

Just to get the sick feeling out of my gut, I stuck my finger down my throat and paid homage to the porcelain gods before heading home. The drive was dark, quiet, and entirely too long. Passing through the mountains and heavily forested shoulders along the road, I felt the blackness closing in like two lines of advancing armies. On one side stood the beating drums and fluttering banners of regret. On the other, shadowed fear marching in step to the beat of my anxious pulse. The cannons fired jealously, the muskets packed with anger.

Turning down the hidden driveway, I held my breath as the house came into view. Security lights illuminated the exterior, but all was dark inside. It occurred to me when I fumbled to get the key in the lock that maybe I should have let Alice and Jasper drive me home, but I'd made it alive. Best not to tempt fate again.

Upstairs, I stared at Punky's closed door for a moment. There was no light peeking from underneath, but I heard her moving around on the other side. A brave man would have just knocked on the door and accepted her wrath head on. For all we'd endured together—for all she'd put up with from me—I owed her that much. If she wanted to kick and scream and throw things at my head, I deserved to stand there and take it. But I was a spineless little shit. Sure, I could throw a fit and beat her down, but I didn't have it in me to look into her bloodshot eyes and see the evidence for myself that she had been crying over me.

Instead, I walked into my room and closed the door. Frustrated, I ripped off my smelly shirt and tossed my jeans in the overdue pile of laundry. In the bathroom, I splashed water over my head and rinsed out my mouth. I could still smell the bar on my body; I dunked my head under the faucet and let it run ice cold for a while. At the very least, it soothed my persistent headache for a while.

In the black cavern of my silent room, I collapsed against the wall with my head in my hands. Now that the anger and anxiety had subsided, I was left with only guilt. I had overdone it this time. My verbal assault on Bella was completely unwarranted for such a minor infraction. Sure, she knew my hang-ups about going into that room. She understood why letting some random fuck press his oily fingers to my mother's piano was unacceptable. But she hadn't permitted the incident maliciously. If I had stopped for just one second to accept her apology and reasonable excuse, I could have just walked away without burning the whole house down with me.

I beat my head against the wall, as if doing so would kill the reactionary part of me that needed to lash out first and make excuses later. The compulsion was like a malignant mass that had grown inside me for years, infecting other cells and rooting ever deeper. Through the years of therapy during my childhood, I never actually felt that I was getting better. There was no great epiphany when I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and saw a world that was less terrifying and threatening. Therapy, for me, had been about managing symptoms and learning to cope. For the most part, I considered the experience a mild success.

To show for it, I had a healthy relationship with my father, Charlie, and Von. I managed my anxious response to older males reasonably. With effort, I had developed friendships outside of Bella. I hadn't had a suicidal thought in more than a decade, which was probably the most favorable endorsement I could offer. I had never turned to drugs to dull the ache; that right there ought to have earned me some sort of certificate of achievement.

High school, for the most part, was a positive period in my life. I had my parents, friends, music, and all looked bright. I should have known that the comet that blazed across my pleasant night, like a harbinger of pain and anguish, would again repeat its cosmic trajectory. Trauma had long ago been pulled into my gravity. It was only a matter of time before it completed a revolution, pulling it ever closer on each pass.

My eyes drifted shut and my body went limp with exhaustion.

To repent, or not to address the rift; that was the question:  
Whether 'twas Nobler in the mind to spare her  
The Slings and Arrows of uncompensated injury,  
Or to take Arms against a lingering betrayal,  
And by opposing end it: to confess, to atone  
And by a atone, to say we end  
The stalemate, and the thousand lying glances  
That dissatisfaction is heir to? 'Twas a consequence  
Devoutly to be feared. To toil, perchance to avoid; Yeah, there's the jagged rub,  
For in that avoidance of resolution, what enemies may arise  
When we have hardened our hearts against forgiveness,  
Must give us pause. There's the acceptance  
Of inevitable failure that makes cowards of so loathsome a man.

"Edward?"

Hark, it is my fanciful delusion, angel of no mercy, who has come to kick me off the edge of drunken contemplation.

"Are you Hamleting to yourself?"

"I think that last bit was _Romeo and Juliet_. Sort of. Was I thinking out loud?"

"You were rambling, yeah."

"Sorry. I'll try to keep it down."

"Are you okay?"

"Haven't been in a while." I turned my face, eyes closed, to press my ear to the wall. "You?"

"You're drunk."

"Yep."

"And you drove home. You know I should kick your ass for that."

"Don't. The wall is ready hard. You'll hurt yourself."

"You're an idiot."

"A brilliant idiot," I corrected. "All the opinions that matter say so."

"Oh yeah? You're adoring and slobbering critics?"

"Nope. Alice ratted you out. She's Team Edward, you know. I have a mole in your operations."

"Might as well take out a full-page ad on HuffPo: I'm queen bitch of your anti-fan club."

I laughed, turning my body to practically grope the wall. I fucking loved her sassy mouth. "I libido you."

"What?" I heard her move on the other side of the wall.

"Kyle is a clever little fuck. I think he's smarter than I am. As long as I can keep him away from Courtney Love and Brown Betty, he'll be the next great icon of the counterculture. Oh, and he wants to be your boyfriend."

"Uh-huh. Walk that back a bit. You libido me?"

"So hard," I groaned. My dick conquered adamantly. "Tiny Tim is going to muzzle me, maybe a ball gag. Doesn't she strike you as the type that carries all sorts of kinky shit in her tool bag? She's afraid I'm going to go all carnivorous on your ass. Full cannibal."

"I—uh—wow." She laughed, and the subtle vibration traveled through the drywall and tittered against my eardrum. "You're plastered."

"I am," I admitted. "But you know I can't lie for shit when I'm drunk. It all comes out a little garbled and out of order, but it's all true."

"Even the part about turning Dr. Lecter on my derrière?"

"Especially that part. No, wait. Did he wear the skins or just eat the flesh? I don't want to wear your ass, just take a bite out of it. A couple of bites, maybe. Would you get a tattoo of my teeth impressions?"

"You want to get one of mine?"

"Fuck yeah. You find a good spot of bare skin and its all yours, Punky. I'm your humble canvass."

"You're completely mental."

"I'm at peace with that."

She was silent for a while, and in the interim I began to hum absentmindedly. I pressed my palm to the wall, feeling the gentle reverberation tickle my skin.

"I haven't heard that song in a while," she commented softly. "I miss it."

"How can you miss something that belongs to you?"

"Edward, about Jacob—"

"Punkyfucker."

"That's colorful," she groused.

"I'm rather fond of the term."

"About what happened earlier: I'm sorry. I only let him in there to show him my paintings. I told him not to touch it."

"I know," I sighed. "And we both know I lost my shit. But I didn't hit him. That was good, right?"

"Yeah," she answered without inflection. "That was good."

I took a deep breath, flicking my tongue piercing between my teeth at half sober speed. "Everything I said to you was bullshit. I'm a horrible bastard and a goddamn liar. I'd feel a lot better if you came over here and kicked me in the spleen."

"I'd rather knockout your teeth, rip out your tongue piercing, pull your nipple rings out with tweezers, and hook up your apadravya to my car battery. Your spleen is innocent in all this."

"Fuck, sweetheart. I might like it. In either case, I'm at your vengeful disposal."

"How did I know you were going to say that?"

"Because I'm disturbed and you know me better than anyone. Nothing I do surprises you anymore."

"Not true," she countered. "You're a daily adventure. I've never been bored a day in my life."

"Glad to be of service."

My fingers drew across the stippled texture of the wall between us. Though I preferred to think of them as nonsensical patterns, it was a poor attempt at the phantom song that played invisible and silent over the surface.

"You can punish me," I told her. "I'll grin and bear it gladly. Just know that I'm sorry and I didn't mean it. I'd take it back if I could. And if I'm still anything like the person you grew up with, believe that I've never looked at you as insignificant. You're massively significant in my life. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have a house or a father. This is your home, too. This is your family, whether we share a last name or not. And I know that Esme loved you like a daughter. She adored you, Bella. She'd be so proud of the person you've become. There's more than enough of her memory to go around, so fuck what I said before. Fuck me for being a selfish prick. Bella, I l—"

A ball of Bella-scented weight dropped in my lap. Her arms wrapped around my neck tightly as her head fell to my shoulder. With a face full of her hair, I held her close. She felt so fucking good in my arms; her little body, soft and pliable, molded to mine while I constricted around her, absorbing her as if she was the last gasp of fresh air before a plunge into the Marianas Trench, the last gulp of potable water before trekking the Sahara. Determinedly, her fingers wove into my hair and held fistfuls so tightly that my scalp stung with relief. I clutched her more snuggly, determined now that only a bullet to the head could tempt me to release her. Even then, I'd hope rigor mortis set in before anyone came to pry her away.

Very softly, I felt Bella's breath sputter against my neck and the gentle but erratic jump of her shoulders. Without pulling away, I reached one hand between us to swipe under her eye. My thumb came back wet with tears. It was like a 12 gauge shell full of buckshot exploded through my chest at close range.

Punky did cry. I made her cry.

"Shh, sweetheart. Don't cry. Not for me." I held the back of her head and ran my other hand up and down her back, trying my damnedest to figure out which of the horrible things I'd said or done had broken her. "I'm so sorry, Bella. I suck. I'm a pathetic asshole who picks on little girls because I'm a complete tool. Shh."

"Shut up," she sniffled. Even still, she only hugged me tighter. "Shithead. I hate your face."

"I know. It's a stupid, awful, terrible face. I'll happily place it under the tire of my car and let you peel out."

"That might help."

"Did you know that the smell of a woman's tears lowers a man's testosterone level? You get all weepy and it turns me into a nutless gimp. In fact, I think your tears are especially potent. Right now, just this very moment, I can feel my balls receding. I think my hair might be falling out."

"No." She tugged her handfuls tighter. Fuck, was that supposed to feel so good? "I like your hair. The hair can stay."

"Okay," I responded softly. "The hair can stay. But the testicles are goners. My face is due for a rubber remodel. I think we've already covered my teeth, nipples, my cock… But the spleen has been pardoned. Is that about right?"

"Yeah," she nodded against my neck. "The spleen, the hair, and this shoulder; they can all stay."

"Noted."

"And your hands," she added with what sounded a little like a laugh. "It would be a shame to waste all that talent. And your voice. I like listening to you sing."

"I'm always singing to you, Punky. No one else matters."


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 23: Old Ways**

**"The thing is, I do my dying after breakfast."**

This felt like progress. With Bella's head on my shoulder, her arms around my neck, it felt as though we'd gotten over at least a small hurdle. I held her as tightly as she clung to me, appreciating that, for the moment, I had my best friend back. I fucking missed her so much it made my throat tighten to think about all the time I'd lost with her.

There were so many concerts we hadn't seen together, so many spring break trips and summer vacations that we should have taken. There were arguments over coffee after seeing a new movie that we never had. Worst of all, I wouldn't need to rely on Em, Jasper, and now Alice to fill me in on the pertinent details of Bella's life outside the house. I lived with her and they fucking knew more about her than I did. That shit had to change.

"Hey, Punky. You feeling better?" I ran my fingers up and down her back, coaxing her to look at me.

"Yeah." She pulled back, sniffling a little as she wiped her hands over her eyes. I could just make out her features in the dark, but not the details. "You know, you haven't called me that in years, but you've been doing it lately."

"Really?" Her nickname ran through my head quite frequently, but maybe I had stopped saying it out loud. "I call you that behind your back all the time."

"Huh." There was that confounding little syllable again. "Sorry that—"

"Don't be. We kinda had a moment there, right? Listening to such a vivid description of my own torture was sort of cathartic."

"Yeah, well, I'm a little spent tonight. I'll kill you in the morning."

"The thing is, I do my dying after breakfast."

"Naturally."

Right on cue, my stomach growled. Bella laughed softly, sitting back to poke at my bare stomach. "Did you eat?"

"Uh…" I had to think about that for a second. Not because I couldn't remember, but because I knew what was coming. "No. But I drank a lot. Does that count?"

She slapped my arm. "Damn it, Edward. Why not?"

"I wasn't in the mood," I shrugged. "Or I forgot."

"Come on." Bella stood up, holding out her hand. "We can lock up and then I'll make you something."

"You don't have to." I took her hand, propping the other against the wall to stand. My legs were all pins and needles from sitting in an awkward position for so long. "I'll just microwave something."

"Stuff it," she told me sharply. "We still have all that gouda, sharp cheddar, and swiss. I'll make you a grilled cheese with some of that rosemary bread. Don't bother arguing with me. I'm a little hungry, too."

"Lead the way." As she left my room, I paused briefly to throw on a pair of pants. Thankfully, my dick hadn't made an awkward entrance into our moment while I sat in only my boxers with her in my lap. "Hey," I called after her as I walked into her room and flicked on the light. "What would you have done if I'd been naked when you walked in?"

Bella's eyes looked me over as she stood by the door to her balcony. All I got in reply was a little shrug.

While Bella went through her ritual quickly and without many pauses, I could tell she was distracted. Whether our conversation had a positive effect or not, Bella's count was way off. It wasn't that she needed to lock her bedroom windows six times or seven, mine five or thirteen. She simply did it until she was satisfied. However, there was generally a consistent count in each room. Tonight, she was all over the place. In the past, such inconsistencies would lead to a midday or midnight panic that had us repeating the whole thing once more.

But again, I didn't want to be a prick and tell her she was doing it wrong. If she woke up anxious at four in the morning, I'd get my happy ass out of bed and walk her through it. So, until the alarm was checked and triple-checked, I kept my damn mouth shut.

"So," Bella began as she heated up the skillet on the stove and I cut slices of cheese beside her, "when were you going to tell me about Demetri?"

Never. Frankly, I hadn't yet come to terms with the fact that I had to actually attend the damn seminar. I was still holding out for a SARS outbreak or an Occupy protest to shutdown the campus.

"What's to tell? He's coming and the esteemed faculty has demanded my presence. My Friday night is pretty much fucked." I sat flicking my tongue piercing between my teeth, the knife loudly chopping when it should have delicately sliced.

"First, give me that." Bella yanked the knife from my hand, putting it in the sink. "Second, I know you're stressing out about it."

"Sure," I confessed. I went to the fridge and grabbed a couple of sodas for us. "But there really isn't much I can do. I'll smile and nod and try to slip out of there as quickly as possible."

Bella put together our sandwiches and placed them in the skillet to toast. Just thinking about having to tolerate that arrogant bastard brought my headache back, so I popped a couple more Advil.

"Have you told Carlisle?" She put her back to the stove, crossing her lean legs as she appraised me.

I stared at the floor, but really at those tiny shorts under my TOOL sweater. "No. Haven't talked to my dad in a few days. Oh, I'm meeting Charlie at the range on Thursday night. You want to grab dinner with us after that?"

"I would," Bella turned around and flipped the sandwiches, "but I've got plans."

"With Jacob." Punkyfucker.

"He's picking me up after my last class. I won't bring him here."

I sighed, running my hands through my hair as I stared at her back. "It's fine. You can have guests over. This is your home. I meant that. Just—"

"I know."

"Something about him just rubs me the wrong way." I leaned my back against the sink, watching Bella try to avoid looking at me. "He smiles too much."

She laughed, pulling one sandwich from the skillet and turning to hand the plate to me. "Only you would see that as a flaw."

"I don't trust people who smile that much. Anyone that happy is obviously hiding something." We took our plates and sat at the counter. Bella bit into her grilled cheese, offering me her full and amused attention as she chewed. "He went away for a while a few years back, right?" She nodded. "Are you sure he didn't go to prison or a psych hospital? You know some places still use electroshock therapy. He could be a meth head or killed thirty-seven people in Portland. Did you Google him recently?"

Punky laughed again, slapping her hand over her mouth as she all but choked on her grilled cheese.

"I don't think this is funny," I stated flatly.

She swallowed, gulping a mouthful of soda to help it all down the pipe. "Yes you do," she argued. "I think you like concocting these little fantasies."

"Have you looked in the bed of that truck? If he's got an ax or a rifle back there—"

"That would describe most of the people in this town."

"Fine. But I don't like his face."

"You've been spending too much time with Alice."

"I completely agree."

I practically inhaled my grilled cheese. As I took bites that were too big for my mouth, Bella slid glances at my plate. I rolled my eyes, peeling the corner of one triangle off and tossing it on her plate. She smiled, popping the bite in her mouth triumphantly.

"So, uh, about Friday…" I walked both of our plates to the sink, putting the rinsed skillet and utensils in the dishwasher as Bella finished with them. "You want to come with me?"

"Sure."

"Cool."

xXx

One by one, the leftovers filed into the rehearsal room with similar looks of apprehension; clumsy fingers, poor rhythm, bad lips, and a myriad of other fatal flaws that made them all but useless as musicians. The music major did employ an audition process for acceptance, but the standards were dictated by the number of applicants. To maintain the state and federal grants that sustained the program within the College of Arts and Humanities, the university had to admit a certain quota. The result of these conspiring circumstances—add to that my classmates had opted to throw me under the bus for leaving early—was an ensemble that had been scraped not from the bottom of the barrel, but the moldy sludge that had grown under that barrel.

I was fucked. Or I would if I had actually started my composition. I was in some realm far beyond that of Fucked.

As the six musicians took their seats in the circle of chairs beside me, I realized that my reputation had preceded me. Not that of Boy Wonder and God's gift to classical music, but that of the difficult, prickly, jaded and frustrated voice of Eclipse and pain in the department's ass. They looked scared. I couldn't find it in me to care.

"I don't remember your names," I told them, "so let's start with that." I looked to my right. A brunette girl with short hair precisely parted and tucked behind her ears stared at my uncovered forearms as she tapped a pen on a small notepad. I guessed her as a straight-up high school marching band type, probably wind section. "Eyes up here, honey." I watched as her nervous eyes bounced to mine and her pupils dilated slightly. "Your name and instrument."

"Sarah," she stated meekly. "Sax, but I've also played flute and clarinet since middle school." Bingo.

Beside her, and it was a tie as to who made her more uncomfortable, was a guy with long black hair and eyeliner. He wore a black Marilyn Manson T-shirt that was too long on his short and lanky body. At his feet, the hems on the legs of his baggy jeans were frayed and had two matching holes that indicated where the heels of his Dr. Martins perpetually stepped on the backs.

"Joey," he delivered flatly while looking around the room. He appeared like a prisoner of _The Breakfast Club_. Why put up the act that he was so pained in participating when the class and major were obviously a choice of affinity, if not passion? That sort of arbitrary ambivalence annoyed me. "Bass guitar."

Joey was a natural blonde, as evidenced by the roots growing out of the top of his head. He had narrow features and hazel eyes under shaved eyebrows. I studied his hands; long fingers with clean, short nails. I made an educated guess.

"But you also play upright bass," I asserted. "Your parents, particularly your mother, put you in lessons in elementary school and symphony orchestra after that. How long since you've played?"

Joey eyed me skeptically, though I held his stare. He could tell me I was wrong, but I doubted it. He had the classic stain of a kid whose absentee father had never played catch with him, mistreated his mother, and eventually ran off with the 22-year-old administrative assistant. Dad's attention was doled out in unsigned birthday cards that arrived a month late with a check hastily written inside and college tuition. Or he just smoked a lot of pot because he couldn't afford coke, but I was betting on the former.

"I keep up," was his flat reply. Ah, so he did love the music. Faker.

I turned my attention to the girl beside him. She was the spitting image of Pink with the corresponding platinum blonde style circa 2007. The '80s were alive and well with this one. She was decked in neon with a short crop top advertising her navel piercing and the hint of a tattoo poking up from each side of her lower abdomen.

Even disinterested Joey kept sliding her a hungry glance. Too bad for Joey, this girl played for the other team. Sure, it was a flawed stereotype, but I had never met a chick with a nose ring who wasn't pitching for the softball team. Perhaps an unusual anomaly in the law of averages, but my gaydar was pretty solid when it came to women who didn't like dick.

"I'm Melanie," she answered brightly. "I auditioned on keyboard, but I can play just about anything with keys. Hey, is it true you quit piano because you developed some kind of pre-mature arthritis? Your hands don't look all creepy and mangled."

"No. My hands work just fine," I answered curtly. Definitely putting from the rough. I hated her already.

"He's the lead singer and guitarist for a band that plays in town. I've seen you at The Nest," the guy to her right said. "We know some of the same people."

I studied his face for a moment until it clicked. "You're a friend of Tyler's. He introduced us once."

"Jason," he reminded me. "Yeah. You have any luck replacing Ty?"

"No. Haven't been looking that hard." While I preferred to play with four pieces, I had fallen—much to Emmett's satisfaction—into a comfortable state with just the three of us. "Why, you want a shot?" The calluses on his fingers were a dead giveaway that he was my guitarist.

"Not so much. Frankly," he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, "I don't really want to be here. Ty says you're stubborn, demanding, and pretty much a pain in the ass to work with."

Yep. That about summed it up. "We've known each other for a long time." Well, for me seven years counted as a long time to have kept anyone in my regular circle. "How's he doing?" Just because I kicked him out of the band, it didn't mean I wished a hex on him or anything.

Jason's indifferent expression dropped to something else like irritation. "If you run into him, let me know." And that reminded me why I'd rinsed my hands of the guy in the first place.

Chris was my trumpet and baritone sax player. He was also Number Seventeen who had finally broken my patience and abruptly ended my stay at the auditions. I was sure he was tossed at me as punishment.

And finally…

"I'm Mike. Percussion."

"Uh-uh. I'm calling you Al." He didn't look anything like Newton, but I had a strong urge to punch people named Mike. It was better for all involved to nip that one in the bud.

Since I had nothing to give them, I called an early end to our little meet and greet. One way or another, I needed to get my shit together and work up a song. Otherwise, we'd all look pretty fucking stupid standing on the stage in silence come December.

Leaving the music building, my instinct was a to text Punky and see if she wanted to grab lunch, but I realized she still had another hour before her class let out and then only ten minutes to her next one. Now that it felt like we were on friendly terms, I wanted to take advantage of situation. Jasper and Emmett were on completely different schedules, so I rarely saw them on campus.

Alone, I made my way to the student union. I grabbed a pita and headed upstairs to the reading room on the third floor. The meal hall lined with quick-service windows was too loud. For that matter, the stalking that took place in order to grab a table was worse than circling the parking lot. I was pretty sure that half the student population had never bothered to look up in this building and wonder what was above. I was thankful for that obliviousness because the third floor was usually quiet and sparsely occupied.

The moment I ascended the stairs, however, I noticed a stray from The Black Parade had found her way to my favorite chair in my preferred corner of the room. Tiny Tim sat with her short legs covered to the knees in leather and buckles draped over the armrest and a sketchpad in her lap. I thought about making a run for it, but she was on my turf, after all.

"I was told I could find you here," she told me without lifting her eyes from the canvas covered in dark pencil lines and graphite smudges. Actually, she was a pretty good little artist.

"You're well informed." How she had come upon the information was the question. I begrudgingly took the seat across from her and spread my lunch out on the short coffee table between us. "What's the occasion?"

She tossed her legs to the floor and put her sketchbook aside. Under purple lipstick, her cheerful smile was oddly intimidating. When Alice smiled, it was almost ironic. Or sarcastic. Or something else misleading. More like a hyena spotting a wounded gazelle limping through the tall grass. Her smile always meant trouble when aimed at me.

"I heard you were a very good boy last night. I came to offer some positive reinforcement."

"Oh yeah?"

Admittedly, I felt a little smug. I sure as hell felt like Punky and I had a tiny breakthrough last night. Whatever details she shared with Alice, clearly Bella had a similar interpretation. This morning she had been in good spirits, playfully scolding me to play nice with my jazz ensemble.

"What'd you have in mind?"

"For starters, I got Jessica's car towed." I dropped my pita back on the wrapper, snapping my eyes to hers. "Relax," she huffed. "I'm not starting fires. She cornered Bella this morning between classes. Same old shit. Anyway, my old roommate works in the campus parking authority. Maybe a few too many unpaid parking tickets showed up on her record. Blah, blah, blah…they towed her car."

"How's Bella?"

"She's fine. She might have very loudly asked Jessica how her chlamydia test turned out." I smiled, imagining that scene in the crowded hallway. That was the Punky I knew and loved. "Anywho," Alice curled her legs up in the chair, planting her hands in her lap, "that bitch had it coming."

"No argument from me. That's another one I owe you. Go ahead and add it to my tab. Was that it?"

"No, that was just a fun detour for my morning. You can unwrap your gift Friday night."

I choked down another bite of my pita before damn near spitting it out. There was no way that choice of words was arbitrary. "Excuse me?"

"I'm going to get Bella all made up for your date. Trust me, you'll thank me for it."

"It's not date," I corrected quickly. "It's a seminar, and a reception," I admitted, "but it's a school thing. I know the guy who's performing. There's a long, boring story there, but the short version is that I despise him. The dean is making me go so he can parade me around and feel important or included or some shit. I don't know what he's getting out of it other than a hard-on. I don't really want to go, but Bella brought it up. Wait," I looked up to Tiny Tim's raised eyebrows and wide eyes, "did Bella call it a date?"

"Oh boy," she laughed. "You are hopeless. Well," she waved her hand through the air, "not completely beyond help. Seriously, Edward, I've never heard you rationalize so quickly. Defensiveness is a strange look on you."

"You didn't answer my question," I snapped back with too much force. To her credit, Alice only rolled her eyes. True enough, I didn't scare her one bit.

"No, Bella didn't call it a date. As a matter of fact," she all but sang, "she got a little glib when I asked for the details. The way she told it, you're being forced to glad hand with an old foe that pretty much makes you want to punch things. She just wants to be there for you and maybe slip you a flask during the show."

Exactly. That was precisely what I needed from Punky: A distraction that could keep me grounded, maybe a little sauced, and prevent me from slugging someone if he touched the wrong nerve. I needed by best friend to make me laugh and whisper snarky comments in my ear while we sat in the back row.

"But," Alice punctuated brightly, "since this is supposed to be a fancy shindig, she must look the part. I expect you're wearing a suit?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

One of the benefits of calling it quits on my former career was retiring the wardrobe of Armani, Calvin Klein, and Hugo Boss that I only shoved myself into for the gaudy events I was obliged to attend while touring. I performed in a tux, but for some reason that never bothered me. I realized then that none of those suits would fit me anymore. Fuck. I hated shopping for clothes.

"Then I'll make sure she is packaged up appropriately. Got any preferences?" Alice popped one eyebrow as she tilted her head with that falsely innocent expression.

"She prefers blue or black. Don't try to force her into something she hates. If she's uncomfortable, she'll be pissed off all night. And Punky can't walk in heels without taking a header."

"You really are adorable sometimes, Edward."

"Whatever." I finished the last of my lunch and balled the wrapper up to toss in the trash.

"You need to find a suit, don't you?"

"Maybe."

"Just ask."

I stared at her flatly. This was a terrible idea. Buying suits had been a father-son thing. Frankly, I didn't know what the fuck I was doing.

"Come on, Tiny Tim. Let's go play Prom Night Edward."

We blew off the rest of the afternoon—Bella had correctly predicted that I would fall back into the habit of poor attendance—and hit the fashion avenue. Alice was relentless in ordering the staff around from one store to the other, pulling jackets and pants from the racks, shoving piles of shirts in my arms as she pointed toward the dressing rooms. I didn't know what she was looking for, but I didn't have a particular preference either way.

Five stores later, I had a Blue two-button Gucci suit with a darker blue shirt and black tie. Though I was certain I had something appropriate in the back of my closet, Alice insisted that I throw a pair of shoes on the bill as well. I had never spent this much money on anything that didn't have strings or an engine. By the time I handed over my credit card—I didn't keep that kind of money in my checking account—I was a little dizzy and a lot peeved that anyone got away with putting that kind of price tag on a pile of fabric. I felt dirty, like I needed to write a check to the starving children in Africa to make it up to my conscious.

After signing my name to the receipt, I walked with Alice back out to the car parked on the curb. I would have to come back Friday morning to pick the suit up after it was tailored. That rush job wasn't cheap either.

"Fill in the blanks for me." I started up the engine and pulled into traffic headed back to campus to pick up Bella. "Your wardrobe mainly consists of thrift store finds and the shelves of Hot Topic—"

"I do not shop at Hot Topic," she snapped.

"Where does designer fashion fit into that mix?"

"I like clothes," Alice shrugged. "Just because I don't prefer to dress like I'm walking the runway doesn't mean I have a grudge against labels. I'm an art major because I want to start my own line someday. You can learn everything you need to know about making clothes from videos online. Design is the tricky part. Color, patterns, what's pleasing to the eye and how to express your vision; those are what separate the artists from the chaff. I'm minoring in business, too."

"Do you make stuff now?"

"You're looking at it," she answered proudly. "With the exception of the boots, pretty much everything I wear is something I've made. Sometimes, as you pointed out, I take a thrift store shirt and alter it somehow. I made these jeans," she informed me while propping one foot up on my dash. I glared at her offending limb and nudged it back to the floorboard. "I've got a photography class. My final project for the semester will be a look book of my designs. My professor said that as long as the photos include the required shots, she doesn't care if it serves a dual purpose."

"That's cool."

"I know."

"I mean it." As I stopped at a red light, I turned to meet her eyes sincerely. "I admire that. You have a goal and clear vision as to how to get there. I respect that." The light changed, and I shifted gears to accelerate down the now clear stretch of road. "And, I admit, I think you've got style and a good eye."

"Aww, Edward!" Alice squeezed me arm and then stretched across the seat to kiss my cheek. "You're a sweetheart. I knew we would hit it off when you stopped being so grumpy all the time."

"Yeah, well, don't let the compliment go to your head. I still think you're annoying." I shot her a quick look at out the corner of my eye and winked as I smirked at her.

Tiny Tim grinned from ear to ear. "I can live with that. I still think you're a cranky bastard."

"Then we have an understanding." I pulled into the lot outside the art building, quickly finding a space in 15 minute parking just in front of the main entrance.

"So…" Alice and I got out and she grabbed my arm while walking beside me like Rob Zombie's Grace Kelly, "You want to model for me?"

I really was in over my head with this munchkin.

xXx

"Eww, Em. That's disgusting!" Alice recoiled toward Jasper, her face contorted in revulsion. "You're such a perv."

"What?" He washed down his mouthful meat lover's of pizza with a big gulp of Coke. "That's the game. The choices are supposed to be difficult."

Around the coffee table in the living room, everyone but Alice laughed at Emmett's innocent expression. Following rehearsal, the five of us were several rounds into a game of Would You Rather, and Em didn't disappoint. He came up with the most fucked up scenarios. Beside me, Bella picked green olives off my slice, showing no remorse as she proudly popped one after the other between her smiling lips.

"I'm not answering that," Alice announced. "Give me a different one."

"No way," Bella interjected. "You have to answer the question given or face dire consequences. There's no wussing out in this house."

"Fine," she snapped as her eyes narrowed in challenge. "Give me your best shot."

Bella sighed sympathetically. "You're going to regret this. Em," she smiled to the grinning man on her other side, "have at it. She's your victim."

He slapped his meaty hands together, rubbing them villainously. "Hmm… Jazz, you're not going to kick my ass right?"

"All's fair in Crime & Punishment." Alice gave him a worrisome pout, but Jasper just shook his head. "Sorry, babe. Those are the rules. No special treatment."

"Emmett once made Bella give herself a Joker makeup job left-handed, with acrylic paint because we didn't have real cosmetics, and post the picture to the high school's Facebook page."

"Thanks," she groaned while jabbing my stomach. "I had almost forgotten that happened, stupidhead."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Alice said.

"You didn't see the pictures," Jasper laughed.

"Her face was beet red for three days. She scrubbed herself raw trying to take it off with soap, baby oil, a scrubbing sponge, and finally nail polish remover."

"So I spent the rest of the week looking like Kelly Kapowski when Zach and Screech sold her the acne cream. Thanks for that, by the way." She scowled at Emmet.

"You looked cute," I countered, pinching her cheek. "It was right before winter break, so you were at least festive."

"Keep it up," she groused. "I'll shove my festive foot up your ass."

"No, no. You promised to hook my cock piercing up to a car battery and run my face over with the car. You didn't say shit about my ass. That's off limits."

"Whoa. What the fuck?" Emmett sat up, staring at us with alarm. "Where was I?"

"Oh, yeah, you're right." Punky sarcastically tapped her finger to her chin. "If I recall your nonsensical rambling correctly, you were the one who wanted to 'go carnivorous' on my ass. And then there was something about tattooing the impression of your teeth on my rump. Am I getting this right?"

"I told you I'd make a fair trade." I grabbed the point of her chin and shook it once before dropping my hand. "Clamp those chompers down anywhere you like and I'll reciprocate." Bella laughed, shoving at my shoulder as her hair fell around her face.

"I'm a little lost," Jasper said as he searched Bella and I. "What are we talking about?"

"This," Alice indicated by waving her hand at us, "is apparently how these two kiss and make up. It's sort of sick and fascinating all at the same time."

I looked at Bella, unable to hide the crooked smirk that turned up my lips. Her answering sly smile made my dick twitch a little. Generally speaking, her lips were constantly a point of interest. And her ass.

"And you all call me perverted," Emmett said. "At least I didn't put a piece of steel in my prick and ask Bella to give me a jumpstart. That's just deranged.

"He's at peace with that."

"I'm at peace with that," I answered simultaneously.

"Jinks," we both called out.

"Double jinks," we yelled at each other while pointing fingers.

"Tripple jinks, no punch back." Bella jabbed my arm sharply. A look a pure triumph in her eyes as she launched to her feet with arms raised. I always let her win triple jinks. "Ha! You owe me a Coke."

"You've got one," I reminded her as she did her weird little celebration jig.

"I want a grown-up Coke."

"Did I hear you're sneaking in the hooch up your skirt on Friday?"

"Maybe," she smiled coyly.

"Then let's get plastered and church laugh from the back row. I'll supply the ingredients.

"Deal." Confidently, Punky shot her hand out to seal the agreement. She really never learned.

I shook her hand, held on when she tried to pull it back, and then used it to tug her in my lap. Shoving my hand under my TOOL sweater to tickle her ribs while she writhed and cursed me, I dipped my fingers in the butter sauce for the garlic bread and smeared just a few drops of it over her face.

"Sleep—with—one—eye—open—shithead!"


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Chapter 24: One good betrayal...**

**"I can't let this one go."**

I found no Freudian fulfillment in firearms. Squeezing the trigger, the resulting noise and kickback, did not inspire in me some sense of power or virility. When I aimed at a paper target and took the shot, I didn't fantasize about putting a bullet through the head of flesh-and-blood victim. I was generally happy with the size of my cock and never measured the inches of my manhood by the length of a gun barrel.

The range was not my happy place where I let off steam or counted my confidence in kill shots—it was just a place to get a little bonding time with Charlie with minimal awkward and stilted conversation. Carlisle wasn't a fan, but he was also a pacifist and had operated on too many who had been on the receiving end.

For a while, Charlie and I didn't even look at each other. With ear protection on, I stood in my stall and concentrated only on the mechanics of loading, aiming, and firing the pistol the way he had taught me. I went through about forty rounds, and in doing so enjoyed the brief bit of relaxed clarity I achieved. All thoughts of class, songs, and spiteful bitches were put aside. For one evening, not a single fuck was given.

When my ammo was spent, I cleared my weapon and returned the rental to the checkout cage. I hung back while Charlie chatted up the shop owner behind the counter inside the retail area. Coming and going through this place was always a production. Times like this, I wished I smoked so I could excuse myself. No matter that my father hand once been the upstanding doctor of this town or that I had never been arrested, everyone in the shop gave me the eye like I might steal something or load up a semi-automatic rifle and go on a merry spree. Fuckers.

"Is Bella meeting us for dinner?" Charlie asked as we stood in the parking lot. He leaned against his pickup truck dressed in the same green flannel jacket that I was pretty sure he wore when I met him.

"I mentioned it," I assured him, "but she had plans with Jacob."

"He's not a big fan of yours from what I hear. Billy said there was some kind of run-in at the house the other day."

Charlie had this way about him. He didn't come right out and ask the question. Instead, he'd lead you to the confession with conjecture and bits of collected information. His tone was always even and casual, his eyes never lingering on mine too long, so as not to give the impression of an interrogation. Telling the story was supposed to feel like my idea. The only way to win was to say nothing at all. Given the circumstances, i.e. living with his goddaughter, that wasn't really an option.

"Bella and I had one of our classic spats," I answered dismissively. Arguments between the two of us weren't a secret. "We worked it out."

"He's not a bad guy, Edward. Maybe you could put a little trust in Bella's judge of character."

There were two ways to interpret that, depending on my self-image on any given day. Nevertheless, I understood. "He was at her piano." End of conversation.

"Well," Charlie took the indelicate hint and pushed off the side of his truck to fish his keys out of his pocket. "I'm starved. You want to catch a bite at the diner?"

His phone rang twice before mine buzzed in my pocket. We both turned away to answer. Bella's number lit up the screen.

"Hey," I answered. "Are your ears burning?"

"Don't freak out. I'm fine."

My entire body went rigid with panic as my pulse accelerated and my breath became lodged in my throat. "What happened? Where are you?"

"Calm down," she ordered in an even voice. "I'm at the hospital. We were in an accident."

My head snapped around to first glance at Charlie's concerned expression. "Bella—"

"Are you still with Charlie?"

"Yeah," I choked out. "He's right here."

"I assume they called him."

"He's on the phone now."

"One more time: I'm okay. I told them I didn't need treatment, but they shoved me in a room anyway."

"I'm on my way."

"I gotta go," she announced. "The nurse is yelling at me." Then the line went dead.

I was halfway in my car before I yelled out the open door to Charlie. "I'm heading to the hospital. She says she's okay." My tires were squealing out of the parking lot before I was sure he'd heard me.

I didn't have time to contemplate or obsess over the worst-case scenario. I considered only the distance between the other vehicles' taillights and my front end, my velocity as I turned the corner toward the ER entrance, and making sure to turn off the engine and take the keys before I ditched my car in the pickup lane. I dared anyone to tow me or slap a ticket on my windshield.

Despite Bella's reassurance that she was physically unharmed, I knew she had to be suffering. Her parents had been killed in a car accident. I couldn't begin to imagine the fear she must have experienced in those uncertain seconds of impact. I needed something to destroy. I craved a target that I could punish for putting her through such a horrific ordeal that would surely have brought all of that pain and sadness back to the forefront.

She never talked about her parents. Neither of us had ever spent much time mourning our pasts once we had been given a second chance with our adopted families. However, that didn't mean she'd forgotten.

In the lobby, I rushed to the reception desk where a middle-aged woman sat. Bypassing the three others in line, I proceeded up to the counter. "Bella Swan," I announced. "I need to see her."

The administrator gave me irritated look as she apologized to the couple next to me. "Are you family?"

"I'm Edward Cullen," I replied meaningfully. "She lives with me. The Chief sent me to check on his daughter while he worked the scene."

The woman pushed her glasses up on her nose while looking me over speculatively. Whether my father's name or Charlie's title got her to tap the keys, she quickly decided it was best to just get me out of her hair.

"Room 117," she read off from her computer screen. She picked out a visitor sticker and wrote my name across the front before handing it to me. "Just through those doors, down the hall, around the corner to the right." I hastily grabbed the nametag and stuck it to my chest as I darted through the doors.

When I found her, Bella was sitting on the exam bed with her head bent over her phone. I lunged at her before she noticed me enter the small space, wrapping my arms around her back with her hands trapped between us. Just the feeling of her warm and soft against my body released all of the tension from my muscles. I breathed her in deeply, exhaling in relief.

"Hi there," she laughed softly against my shoulder. "Miss me?"

"Are you okay?" I didn't move an inch, even as she wrestled her arms free to hug me back.

"I told you, I'm fine. A little bump on the head and some bruising from the seatbelt. No biggie." Her fingers gripped my back, curling the fabric of my T-shirt in her hands. "I knew you'd overreact."

I pulled away, taking her face between my hands to look her over. "Did they check you for a concussion? Are you in pain? Did they give you anything? What about an X-ray? I can call Carlisle. You know that sometimes symptoms don't—"

"Edward. Relax." She smiled indulgently as she grabbed my wrists and pulled my hands down to her lap. "Amazingly, there are actual doctors who still work here and know what they're doing. Yes, they checked me out and said I'm good to go."

"I think Charlie went to check out the crash." I pushed her hair off her face, feeling around the side of her head until she winced a little at the raised bump. It really wasn't that bad.

"He called me," she nodded. "A couple deputies came by to get my statement for the report. I haven't seen Jake since they took him into triage."

"What happened?" I held both her hands in mine, amazed that she seemed so calm and unaffected.

Her eyes drifted from mine. "It wasn't his fault," she began. "We hit a patch of slick road. He was going a little fast, but—"

"Hey, Bells."

Her eyes lifted to look over my shoulder and then darted back to mine. Bella appeared unmistakably scared. As well she should be. "Edward, don't." She gripped my hands tightly as she whispered her plea.

In answer, I kissed the top of her head. "I can't let this one go." It was an apology.

Wrenching myself from her hands against protest, I rounded on Jake standing doorway. One hand around his neck, I shoved him out of the room and roughly up against the opposite wall. Behind me, Bella shouted.

"You could have killed her."

"Get off me."

"She could have died because of you."

Jacob, about my height but built more like Emmett, ripped my hand from his neck. He pushed me away, but I slammed him back against the wall.

"It was an accident. She's fine."

"No thanks to you." I shoved him again, pressing my forearm over his throat. "Stay away from her. This is your first and last warning."

"Stop it, both of you." Bella tried to separate us, but I wouldn't let her deter me. I needed this. I had to have someone to blame.

"Fuck you." He pushed, sending me back against the other wall of the narrow hallway.

I lunged at him, the two of us wrestling and crashing between one wall and the other. When he elbowed me in the kidney, I responded with a jab to his gut. I managed to grab his wrist, wrenching it behind his back as I again threw him up against the wall.

"Do you have any idea what you put her through? Her parents died in a car wreck, jackass."

"What?" Behind me, Bella's voice was surprised. "Who told you that?" Her confused expression confounded me. "That's not how they died."

"Hey, hey! Cut it out." Charlie came running up beside me, forcibly separating us. "What's going on?"

I didn't resist, taking a couple steps back. All the fight was sapped from my muscles as my mind tried to make sense of Bella's words. My chest heaved as I stared at Jacob. "Nothing," I stated numbly.

"Jacob?"

"Yeah." He glanced at Charlie and then Bella behind me. "Nothing."

Charlie looked us over, clearly unsatisfied. "I could drag you both down to the station," he warned. "Jake, why don't you go call your dad and let him know how you're doing?" Jacob hesitated, but Charlie's expression left no room for argument. Reluctantly, he proceeded down the hallway. "Bells, you okay?"

"I'm good," she answered. "Doctor said I could go."

"You want to fill me in?" Charlie used a softer approach when addressing his goddaughter, rubbing her shoulder as he looked her over.

"Just a misunderstanding. I'd like to go home."

"You're sure?"

With an innocent expression that only pissed me off, Bella looked up at Charlie. "Yeah. I'm tired. I just want to go to bed."

He relented, giving Bella a tight hug before whispering something in her ear. He turned to me and spoke firmly. "Take care of her and call me if she needs anything."

"Of course," I agreed automatically, but my thoughts were elsewhere. After saying our goodbyes and wrapping up the paperwork at the front desk, Bella and I headed back to my car without a word.

In the car, I shut off the radio rolled down the window. I took care to drive at least five under the speed limit as we made our way out of town toward home. Though I refused to meet her eyes, I felt Bella staring at the side of my face.

Bella reached out and turned on the radio. I immediately turned it back off.

"Don't," I snapped harshly.

"Okay." Her voice was soft, wary. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

One hand gripped the steering wheel while the other held tight to the stick shift. The revelation that I'd been mislead for so many years about her parents' deaths felt like a betrayal. I knew every scar on her body and how it got there. She knew the disgusting truth of my past. How the fuck had she lied to me about this? And she had lied.

Giving it some thought, I distinctly remembered asking if she had kept a picture of her parents. It was years ago, before the robbery. She took me into the den at Charlie's house—maybe ten or eleven at the time—and showed me one that he had framed. That's when Bella told me with a straight face that they had died in a car crash. As the conversation replayed in my head, I felt the bitterness rise within me.

"Edward…"

"What's to talk about?"

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I don't even remember—"

"I do. I remember everything, Bella. You were my best friend."

"Hey." She turned in her seat, taking on a defiant tone. "The one has nothing to do with the other. We were kids and I lied. I'm sorry." She remembered just fine.

"Forget it." I tongued my lip ring, my shoulders tense as I steadfastly kept my eyes on the dark road ahead.

"I can't forget it if you're going to be pissy all night. I don't get why this is such a big deal. Just let it go. Please."

"The thing is," I answered flatly, "I don't think I can."

"So that's the way it is?" she asked with her tone soaked with indignation. "The past two days, everything we said the other night, none of it means anything now. Perfect. I should have known."

I pulled into driveway and abruptly shut off the car. "Everyone knew but me, right? Charlie obviously knew, and I'm betting Carlisle did as well. You've lied to me for years, Bella. Don't make me the bad guy." I got out of the car and slammed the door. Once inside, I went for the kitchen the bottle of Advil.

"You are such a hypocrite," Bella shouted from the foyer as she slammed the front door. "You're the one that shut me out. You're the one who stopped talking to your best friend."

"That's not the same thing." I rounded on her, glaring down at those dark eyes so full of fire. "Don't go there."

"Why not?" She shoved my chest. "I think that's exactly where this needs to go. Let's have it out. Right now. You ran from me without a word. You want honesty? Fine. You first."

"I'm not having this discussion." I turned my back on her, walking away. I felt my hands start to shake with anxiety as sweat gathered at the base of my neck. My chest tightened painfully, my stomach rolling while the memory of that night forced itself to the surface.

"Don't you walk away from me," she yelled. "Edward!"

I took the stairs two at a time until I reach my bedroom. I closed and locked the door behind me, collapsing on the bed as my pulse raced. My skin crawled, palms sweaty. My clothes felt too tight, like the shirt collar was slowly suffocating me. In a rush, I tugged and peeled at the fabric until I sat only in my boxers. It still wasn't good enough.

In the bathroom, I turned on the shower faucet and stepped under the spray before the water warmed. It didn't matter; I barely felt the temperature either way. One hand pressed to the tiles, I worked to get my breathing under control as I concentrated on pushing back against the images behind my clenched eyes.

Turning my back on Bella yet again was not the best course of action; certainly not on a night I had come so close to losing her. Sure, she wasn't hurt in the crash, but a foot to the left or an inch to the right, and maybe things would have been different. Nevertheless, I couldn't face her while my body succumbed to the torture of my mind.

For this very reason, I had never tried to explain. I had never bothered to make excuses. I simply shut her out. No matter how much I loved her, I was never going to be well enough to be with her. Of course, she deserved the truth. I owed her that much. But it was my inability to give it to her that made me a selfish bastard. It was wishful thinking to pretend that we could just sweep the past few years under the rug and move on like nothing had happened.

I hung my head under the pelting water until I had exhausted the capacity of the water heater. After toweling off and dressing in a pair of longue pants, I picked up the phone to call my dad. Predictably, he picked up quickly.

"Edward. Hello, son." His voice was even, but I detected a stern note buried inside his usual tenor.

I sighed, falling on my sofa. She'd gotten to him first. "Just tell me one thing. Did you know?"

"I did," he replied honestly. "I also advised her some time ago to tell you the truth."

"And she didn't."

"You can hardly crucify her for it," he argued softly. "I understand your disappointment, but she has a right to protect herself."

"From me?"

"Perhaps, but not specifically. Whatever Bella's reason for holding on to this secret, you have to respect her boundaries. I would think you could empathize."

"Don't do that," I warned him. "It's not the same thing. She knows everything about me. Not wanting to talk about the past and lying about it are two different things."

"So they are."

"Will you tell me?" There was a long pause and then I heard my father expel a breath. "Forget I asked. It's fine. It doesn't matter." I couldn't put my father in the middle of this. He loved me, but he loved her as well. Asking him to betray her trust just compounded the problem.

However, another question occurred to me. Cryptic warnings had been lobbed my way over the past few weeks. If a change were imminent, surely Bella would have informed my father.

"Is Bella moving out?" I knew, rationally, that the day was looming some time in the future, but I couldn't actually picture the day arriving.

"Son, I think you should speak to her. Now that you've calmed down."

"She is." I sank back against on the sofa, the implied admission slamming into me. "When? Why now?"

"Edward—"

"She's obviously been planning this for a while and hasn't said a word of it to me. What, was she just going to gather up her stuff one afternoon? I would come home to a note on the kitchen counter with her keys left behind."

"I sincerely doubt—"

"Damn it! Dad, please. Tell me the truth."

"She's applied for a transfer to Emerson next semester to finish her degree."

My chest collapsed. I couldn't breathe. I'd finally done it. Years of pushing her away, and Bella had finally had enough. What was almost funny was that the past two days really hadn't meant anything. She was planning to leave me behind whether I had apologized or not.

"Edward?"

"Good. No, that's good. She should have gone in the first place. I'll apply for a transfer to Columbia and move to New York like I had intended. We can sell the house—"

"We're not selling the house," he interjected. "That was never the plan." His voice was a bit harsh, curt.

"Fine. Whatever. It doesn't make a difference. I put my life on hold to accommodate her. If Bella's ready to get on with her life, then so am I."

"Now stop right there," he demanded. "I'm not going to allow you to dodge your responsibilities this way."

"Come again?"

"Don't start with me, Edward. You've dragged this out long enough and we've indulged your behavior until now. Take the night to sleep on it if you must, but tomorrow I want you to sit down with that girl and work out your differences. Tell her the truth, son. I'm not giving you another option."

"Excuse me?" I was completely taken aback. On one hand I could count the instances my father had scolded me. I doubted anyone could claim to have heard my father raise his voice. "Why would you say that? You know—"

"I do know," he responded gently. "And because I love you and hate to see you in pain, I've tolerated your refusal to repair your relationship with Bella. I watched you turn your back on the girl who brought us together and the woman who has been there for you every day since."

"Seriously?" I launched to my feet, at a loss for how this conversation had turned. "I gave up Columbia to stay here and babysit her because Bella was going to throw her whole life down the drain when she turned down Emerson. I should have moved to New York with you. You're the only family I have left."

"She stayed behind for you," he stated flatly.

I came up short. "What?"

"Bella didn't turn down Emerson because she was too afraid to move across the country. She stayed behind because I told her you didn't want to leave the band or the house where your mother died."

I didn't understand. Rapidly, my mind filed through dozens of old conversations. The day I wrote my rejection letter to Columbia. Yelling at Bella about ruining her life. Sitting down with the dean when I accepted my invitation to the university only on the stipulation that they accept Bella as well.

"It was all bullshit," I muttered under my breath. "You set us up."

"I did what I thought was best for you."

"You lied to me," I yelled. "I can't—you—what right do you think you have?"

"You're my son!" I was stunned to hear my father shout through the phone. "Goddamnit, Edward. You're my son and you've carried this demon long enough. I won't apologize for my actions. I'm not sorry. You love that woman, and I will not allow you to run away from her yet again. You are going to walk into that room and you are going to tell her exactly how you feel. So help me, I won't tolerate your refusal. If it weren't for that girl, I'd have nothing. No one.

"I love you with all my heart, but losing your mother destroyed me. There will never be another woman. I put my heart in the ground with my wife, and so there it will remain. I'll never be whole again. I'll never be a complete person without her. I miss her every second of every day. I've done you a disservice, son. I should have put a stop to this nonsense sooner. Your mother wouldn't have let it get this far, but that's why she was the better of us all.

"Hear me now, Edward. I will not allow you to forsake love in favor of fear. You've always been an impulsive and prideful person, but this time it has carried on too long. You're hurting yourself, son. It is time you put your pride to rest and open your heart. Believe me when I tell you, you won't get a second chance at happiness. The two of you need each other. You won't be whole without her."

I found myself on the floor when I opened my eyes and finally took a breath. My entire body shook and my head pounded. "Dad…"

"I love you," he reiterated. "You're all I have left. I will always do everything in my power to protect you and see that you are happy. Please, Edward. Don't let her get away. You know as well as I do that she doesn't want to leave."

"How do I…" I inhaled shakily. "What can I say? It's been so long."

"Start at the beginning and just tell her the truth. You don't have to explain, Bella will understand if you fill in the blanks. Trust her, Edward. She wanted to be there for you then and she will be again. You have just to let her."

I swallowed thickly past the lump in my throat, trying to muster up the same confidence that my father so ardently held. "I'll try, but—"

"Take the first step. That's the hardest part." I considered that while a long silence stretched out between us. I could hear my own labored breaths echoing in the phone held in my sweaty palm. "You mother hand a favorite poem," he began softly. There was fondness in his voice that was similarly present whenever he allowed himself to reminisce aloud. With that same fondness, he recited:

_Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,_

_Old Time is still a-flying:_

_And this same flower that smiles to-day_

_To-morrow will be dying._

The Robert Herrick poem was a call to action, urging the young man (or woman) not to waste his youth. Life is short, Herrick warns. I recalled the poem immediately. Indeed, it was a favorite of hers. It had also been drilled into me at a young age. Quietly, I recited the words as Carlisle continued:

_The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,_

_The higher he 's a-getting,_

_The sooner will his race be run,_

_And nearer he 's to setting._

_That age is best which is the first,_

_When youth and blood are warmer;_

_But being spent, the worse, and worst_

_Times still succeed the former._

_Then be not coy, but use your time,_

_And while ye may, go marry:_

_For having lost but once your prime,_

_You may for ever tarry._

"Don't waste the time you have left, Edward. If you let her get away, you'll have only regret in her place."


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N:** **First, 99.99% of you are awesome and I love you for being awesome. I crave your reviews and read every single word.**

So… if you've been reading the reviews lately or following along on Twitter/Tumblr, you might have noticed that a certain reader (Bubbly Butt) has a bone to pick with me. First off, I appreciate the kind encouragement I've received from many of you. No, I don't take the comments to heart. Actually, I find it pretty funny. However, I feel compelled to answer one particular accusation.

Just to be clear and put to rest any conjecture, I don't write stories about emotionally abused women who sit and take it because Edward Cullen (in any version) is too hot to hate. I didn't know that was a thing. I was unaware that was some kind of perceived trend in fanfic. That's pretty fucked up. If you think Bella is a victim in this story, well…interpret how you will, but that's not the character I'm writing. If you think Edward is unredeemable, I suggest you flounce because I think we are at an impasse in the author/reader relationship. I don't write fragile characters. I don't have a lot of patience for handholding fragile personalities.

Say what you will about my story structure, characterization, dialogue, talent or lack there of. Tell me I can't put a sentence together to save my life or thread together an interesting story with a gun to my head. That's cool. I can take that. I welcome it. However, when a comment comes in telling me I'm a deranged "cunt" who likes to write about battered women for sick enjoyment, my response will be "fuck off and have a nice day."

Yeah, I bet now you want to go see what all the fuss is about. :-)

Anywho… Now that all of that is out of the way, on to the story.

* * *

**Chapter 25: Save Tonight**

**"Nothing's changed."**

My father's words echoed in my mind long after the call ended. In the dark, I sat on the floor with my back to the foot of the bed, eyes closed, and face buried in my hands. The persistent headache that had plagued me for days returned, joined by the anxiety crawling under my skin and nausea turning my stomach. My chest was slick with sweat though I felt cold to the touch. Under it all, chords rang between my ears.

I thought about going downstairs. I visualized taking the knob in my palm, turning it, and pushing to door open to stare into the music room. I imagined the vacant black piano sitting almost invisible in the dark. Tugging at the roots of my hair, I watched myself take slow, tentative steps inside. Still far enough from the piano that I couldn't quite reach it, I pictured a younger version of myself sitting at the keys.

Beside me, my mother walked in and took a seat at the bench. She smiled lovingly while I played, brushing my messy hair off my forehead with gentle fingers. With an audience, I sat up straighter to assume a proper posture. My fingers traveled the keys effortlessly. Esme knew the tune well, I'd written it for her, and hummed along with the melody. She had the sweetest voice, a warmly delicate and angelic soprano.

But the lighting changed. Where once it was daylight, the clouds coalesced around the house to shutter the sun and leave behind a grey wash. Subtly, her song transitioned. I sat taller, older. Esme's skin turned pale. Glancing at her, I saw the discomfort in her unfocused eyes. Her hand reached out to grab mine from the keys.

"Mom?" I held her shoulders, searching her anguished face. "What's wrong?" She didn't respond as the last remnants of color fell from her cheeks and sweat gathered on her forehead. "Mom." I captured her face between my hands; worry wringing my heart as I began to panic.

She fell limp and lifeless in my lap. Collapsed across my legs. Blood trickled from her nose.

"Mom," I pleaded again, holding her closely. "Wake up. Please." I wiped the blood from her nose, lighting rubbing her cheek. "No, no, no." Caramel eyes stared up at me, but they were empty and unresponsive. "Shit…shit…" I shook her, a futile struggle to reverse the damage and rouse her. "No. This isn't happening."

My chest constricted around my heart, squeezing like a vice. My entire body trembled as I gathered my mother in my arms and clutched her to my chest. "Dad!" I shouted, but the sound hardly made it past my lips. There was no voice behind it; my throat held a boulder too massive to move. "Dad!" I tried again, but still the noise was only a choked sob. I looked down, baffled by the vision before me. Two tears slid down my mother's cheek. They weren't hers.

"Edward. Hey, it's me."

My eyes snapped open and landed on the dark vision of Bella's face inches from mine. Warm hands held my face as she crouched in front of me. The memory faded into the shadows, though the physical symptoms lingered stubbornly.

Reality caught up with me all at once. After a breath—a rushed, gulping gasp of air—I straightened my spine. "What?"

"You were calling for your dad," she answered softly. Bella's thumbs slid gently along my jaw. "I think you had an episode. How do you feel?"

I filled my lungs with another deep breath, letting my head fall back against the edge of the bed. She released me, dropping her hands to shoulders where she continued to delicately run her thumbs over my damp skin.

"Exhausted," I replied. "Sorry." This wasn't the first time, but I hadn't had such a vivid flashback in a while.

Bella's hands left me, and I sought her eyes immediately. She couldn't leave me yet. "Stay here," she told me. "I'll be right back." She walked into my bathroom and quickly returned with a glass of water. I took it, drinking greedily. "Better?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Thanks."

She sat beside me, resting her back against the end of the bed with her knees curled up to her chest. "I didn't get in."

"Huh?" I set the empty glass down, turning my head to face her.

"I heard you on the phone with Carlisle," she clarified. "And I didn't get in. That's why I haven't said anything. It was a long shot anyway. Turning them down once doesn't engender a lot of goodwill. I didn't want to tell you if it didn't pan out."

"When did you find out?"

"A week ago. I guess I'm still licking my wounded ego."

"Fuck 'em," I responded emphatically. "Who the fuck needs Emerson? A bunch of pretentious elitists who wouldn't know talent if it shit in their shoes."

Punky snorted a laugh. "Unlike the unpretentious elitists at Columbia, right?"

"Well yeah," I answered jokingly. "They wanted me, so clearly they have great taste."  
"Jackass." Punky shoved her shoulder against mine. I practically felt her roll her eyes.

We were quiet for a moment, perhaps both struggling to figure a way in or out of this conversation as we stared out the glass door to the balcony and the black night beyond it.

There was one question I just had to ask. "Why now?"

Bella took a deep breath, resting her chin on her folded arms. "Nothing's changed." I slid a glance toward her, which she met quickly. "Had changed," she amended. "I sent off the application over summer break. I thought…" She paused, turning her attention away from me again. "I thought maybe I was holding you back or just making it worse. That if I left, maybe you'd—I don't know—get better or go back to therapy or…something. Honestly, Edward," she looked at me straight on, "hitting rock bottom would be an improvement over the last couple of years. This pattern just has to stop. You're barely living."

I could argue—it was another talent of mine that Bella and I tested frequently—but I understood her meaning. I had my schedule and routines, but that wasn't really a life. Sometimes I went to class, sometimes not. I went through the same rehearsals every week, played the same shows, laid a woman I held no particular affection for, and repeated the process again the following week. That was existing. All the while trying to tamp down the anxiety that flowed through all of it. I had come to accept my lot in life.

"You're right." Beside me, I felt Bella deflate. "But none of that is your fault. That's on me."

"I've felt helpless, you know? And I don't mean that I want sympathy or anything," she added quickly. "I just…I don't know how to help." Bella shifted to face me, her eyes sincere and steadfast. "I don't know if you want me to try or if it's better that I keep my mouth shut. I don't know when it's the right time to push or if I'm making it worse. And then sometimes you just really piss me off."

I smiled sadly, appreciating her conundrum. I wasn't an easy bastard to live with. "I'm good at that."

"Really good," she added.

"If something's worth doing…"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Maybe I pick fights with you, on occasion, just to get you to talk to me."

"That's just dumbest thing I've ever heard." But there was a little smile in her voice, and her eyes told me that she understood. "Maybe we're both idiots." That was a confession. Not breaking news, just Punky's way of admitting to the same.

"Brilliant idiots," I reminded her.

"Right," she nodded. "Brilliantly inept at life."

I chuckled, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and pulling her closer until her head rested against me. I tilted my face to press my lips to the top of her head, deeply breathing in the scent of her shampoo. As only Punky could, she'd chased off my queasy stomach and trembling muscles. Now for the hard part.

"This is going to suck," I warned her.

"A big fat one," she agreed. Bella slid one hand across my abdomen and held my waist securely. "I might yell."

"I'll probably make you mad."

"That's a given," she assured me. "I might screw up and say the wrong thing."

"It's going to hurt."

"A lot. Like a punch to the tit."

"Or a knee to the crotch."

"Three days ago we wouldn't gave gotten this far."

"You're right," I responded. "Maybe I should be drunk for this. That seemed to work out well the last time."

"You can be awfully charming when you're wasted."

"Noted," I replied.

Like two lungs of the same body, we both took a deep breath and held on just a little tighter. I opened my mouth to begin. This was it. There wouldn't be another opportunity. I wouldn't get a better shot. But Bella spoke first.

"My parents," she began quietly. "They were murdered in a home invasion."

Outwardly, I didn't react. I locked it down and remained perfectly still. Inside, I was white-hot rage. I wanted to slam my head against a wall and then punch a hole through it for good measure. But as her words sunk in, the fury gave way to debilitating guilt. I'd failed her so much worse than I'd ever known.

"My mom came into my room and woke me up. She told me to be very quiet as she placed her hand over my mouth. She and my dad brought me out into the hallway on the second floor, which is when I heard noises coming from downstairs. He pulled down the ladder to the attic while my mother held me and then helped me up inside. I've never understood why they didn't just come with me. Why wouldn't they hide and wait for the police?"

Bella's voice was eerily quiet and void of inflection. I pictured the five-year-old girl I'd met in foster care; long brunette hair, large dark eyes, and a shy look of bewilderment as she griped a multi-colored knit blanket to her chest. Over the last several years, she'd lost that fragile appearance. She was hardened now, worn and weathered. Just like me.

"In the dark, I pressed my face to the floor and listened. A few seconds later, I heard voices, so I crawled over to the vent that looked down into the living room. My dad held a baseball bat over his shoulder and tried to sneak up on the man. He swung, dropping the guy straight to the floor. Then there were three gunshots. My dad dropped the bat and fell to his knees before landing face first on the carpet. I screamed and crawled into the darkest corner of the attic. There were two more gunshots and then a long wait in silence until the sirens came. The sun came up before a police officer found me in the attic. I met you two days later."

I felt I should say something. Obviously I should have had some words of sympathy or support to offer Bella. During our confinement in the foster home and the endless nights I ran to her after he had finished with me, she was always my constant. She was my retreat. Now, as the facts were laid out, I couldn't think of a single word to utter that could possibly be of use. I never had a family to miss before the Cullens adopted me. I had one fragmented memory of a woman who willingly abandoned me. Bella had a tragic recollection of a horrific event that forever skewed the course of her life.

"I didn't have a door on my room in the foster home," she stated. "Do you remember that?"

I nodded against the top of her head resting on my shoulder, unable to find my voice. At a loss for anything else, I held her closer and slid my other hand behind her neck to lightly run my fingers back and forth through her hair. It wasn't much, I wasn't much solace, but I could give her my shoulder so long as she was content to use it.

"When Charlie first brought me home, I'd lock myself in my room or hide in the attic for hours. When he took the door off the hinges, I started running away. It wasn't until I talked to Carlisle that Charlie finally understood."

"What are you saying?"

"It's not your fault." Bella sat up, meeting my eyes. "I've slept with my bedroom door locked ever since. I'd wake up in the middle of the night and check every lock in the house. Sometimes two or three times a night. I liked staying here when we were kids and Charlie had to work because nothing bad ever happened to me when you were there, in the foster home. I know that sounds horrible," she was quick to add.

"No," I corrected immediately. "What happened to me had nothing to do with you. It started long before you got there. I'm so fucking thankful that he didn't get to you, Bella."

"I always felt safe with you. Charlie had me stay over with your family or let you stay at the house because he knew that I needed it. The way I am…" Bella exhaled, looking down at her fingers picking at the hem of my TOOL sweater in her lap. "It's not your fault. I know you blame yourself, that you feel like you have this obligation to me, but it started before that night."

"I made it worse," I answered emphatically. Anger at the myriad of influences I had no control over and myself colored my voice. "There's no getting around that and I don't want you to make excuses for me. I abandoned you, Bella. Whether I knew what would happen or not, whether I understood the history, I fucked up. I was supposed to be there. I was supposed to protect you. Charlie trusted me." My voice rose until I was all but shouting in her face. "You needed me," I exclaimed. "I fucked and left you there. Damn it, Bella. Why don't you hate me?"

"Because what if you hadn't?" Bella sat up on her knees and yelled the question inches from my face. "Have you ever stopped to ask yourself that one? Because I spent days, while you wouldn't say a word to me, thinking about nothing else. You were young, dumb, and full of cum. You were riding the high of slaying Mike. So a window breaks in the middle of the night, and then what?" Bella shoved my shoulder, glaring at me violently. "You'd have grabbed a baseball bat from the hall closet and never come back. Fuck you," she shouted, "because I'm glad you left. I'd rather you be alive. If losing my best friend was the price for your life? Fuck it. I'll pay it."

I shoved to my feet, unable to sit still any longer. My muscles twitched with the need to—I don't know what—but I had to move. I paced the length of my room, the anger building until I stopped and rounded on Bella now standing at the foot of the bed.  
With all the confusion and fury coursing through my veins, I shouted at her. "Why are you taking the blame?"

"Why do you have to be the martyr?"

"Fuck!" I tugged at my hair, continuing to pace. "All this time, Bella. Years. I've had this thing hanging over my head. I think about it constantly. Did you know that?" I glanced at her briefly, but didn't really look for an answer. "I think about it until I'm sick to my stomach and then I lash out at you just to get a reaction. Just to get some kind of emotion from you. Hate me or yell at me or tell me I'm a sorry sack of shit. Don't stand there and rationalize that my fucked up bag of crazy is somehow your fault."

"I took advantage of you," she answered so softly that I almost didn't hear her over the sound of my heart beating like a drum line between my ears.

I stopped short, snapping my eyes to her. My voice was clipped, sharp as a razor. "What?"

"You weren't ready and I took advantage of you."

"Fuck off." This was a bad idea. My fingers tingled like I'd sat on them too long and I felt a chill run down my spine. I was wrong; I wasn't ready for this.

"Edward—" Bella reached for me, but I jerked away from her. "I was the aggressor. I instigated it. We went from first kiss to sex in the span of just minutes and I never stopped to think that maybe we should stop. I didn't take into account what it would do to you. I fucked up," she insisted, "because I wasn't looking out for you. I should have been your friend, but I was selfish and pushed you too hard."

"Are you fucking serious?" I stalked the short distance between us until I hovered over her much shorter stature and glared down. She'd hit a nerve, and there was an automatic response to that sort of accusation. "You don't have that sort of power over me," I growled. Liar. "No one does," I added to the blatant fabrication. "I fucked you because you were warm, wet, and willing."

"Don't do that," she told me softly without flinching. The sympathy I saw in her eyes only infuriated me. "I won't believe that, so don't hide behind the act."

"What act?" I manufactured a humorless laugh. "You've had a front row seat to my highlight reel. I feel nothing anymore," I insisted in calm, slow voice that contradicted my crumbling composure. "Sex doesn't mean anything to me. I use women, I get off, and there's nothing more to it."

"I thought tonight we were going to be honest," she stated flatly, her expression unimpressed. I couldn't handle it anymore. I felt claustrophobic, cornered. My temples throbbed with a near-blinding headache. "You won't convince me that you're really that person, Edward. If you think fucking through the pain is some sort of desensitization therapy, fine. But I know you, the real you. You're not as numb or uncaring as you try to project."

Her words—the very tone of her voice—were like a blade peeling at my flesh. My legs felt heavy, forcing me to step back and fall to the sofa. I just didn't have any fight left in me. She was dead right. Nailed it. Of course she would. Tattoos, piercings, women—they were all a form of control I could wield over my own body. If I were completely honest—just this once—I needed to control someone else too. I had to have it. If I could be honest just this once…

"At first, I couldn't finish at all with another person. I had this sort of mental block that wouldn't let me get there no matter how good it felt. I could jerk off three times and day and not think twice about it, but something about having another person there changes things. Then finally I pushed through that wall, but it only had me hugging the toilet a second later. Horrible anxiety attacks. So I get right to the edge and then finish alone."

I felt so fucking pathetic saying it out loud. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I understood that I had never wanted to admit as much to Bella because doing so felt like the final nail in the coffin. Her opinion of me mattered. I knew it was shit at the moment, but showing weakness if front of her was pretty much my least favorite thing. Short of actually having her, living with the far-fetched fantasy that there could be a future for us had been a small consolation that my heart held to, no matter how improbable. It got me through the day.

I briefly looked back to the chick who'd blown me at the bar the other night, but decided not to linger over the matter too long. A fluke, maybe. A one-shot was hardly a trend to be declared a breakthrough.

Because I had nothing left to lose, and if I was going to present my self—naked, ashamed, and shivering at her feet—for all my scars and flaws, I looked up into Bella's sorrowful eyes and said the words out loud. The truth this time.

"Making love to you is the happiest memory I can't stand to think about. Touching you, being inside you—nothing has ever felt so perfect. I was right there, Bella. I was with you completely. And then I wasn't. That night and every time since, I get to that moment of release and all I see is him kneeling over me and the things he made me do to him." The way he'd leave me like used rag on the floor.

Bella came to stand between my legs. I looked away, my body recoiling from the memory and unprepared for contact. But Bella didn't retreat. She pushed through my reluctance and wove her fingers into my hair at the nape of my neck, anchoring herself there and me to her. My hands found their way to the backs of her thighs, just barely touching her bare skin.

"I pulled over for an hour on the side of the road that night because I couldn't stop throwing up. I couldn't see straight. I probably damn near wrapped my car around a tree. Every day all I want is to lean on you and get as far away from you as possible. You were the only person I could talk to and the last person I wanted to tell." By the time the words fell out of my mouth, I was all but in tears. "My life didn't really begin until I met you. I've loved you every day that matters. I'm so fucking in love with you and you scare that shit out of me."

That was it. I had nothing left. I'd bled my fears dry and felt all the more ashamed, embarrassed, and worthless for the experience.

"Are you scared of me now?" Bella's voice was gentle as her fingers combed through my hair. My head lulled into her palms, exhausted and unable to fight the simple fact that her touching me was a need I couldn't resist.

I was greedy for her. Selfish and twelve kinds of certifiably fucked up.

"No," I answered honestly. I didn't have the energy or good sense to be afraid while both of our re-opened wounds sat exposed to the air.

Very slowly, maintaining steadfast eye contact, Bella hoisted one leg and then the other over mine. "Does this bother you?"

As she sat astride me on the sofa, my hands slid up to her ass. I barely held her, just the lightest touch, but I felt my temperature rise with the feeling of her straddling my hips.

"No," I responded past a mouth full of sand.

Bella licked her lips. I watched the tiny movement with intense interest. From her mouth, my eyes slid to her jaw and her pulse lightly thrumming at her artery.

"I want to kiss you," she informed me with a quiet, steady voice. "I'm going to kiss you," she continued, "unless you tell me not to. You've got about three inches to make up your mind."

I looked up; dazed, a little confused, completely in awe. In the dark, Bella's eyes were their own light. There was no sadness, no pain. She looked perhaps the most peaceful I'd ever seen her.

She leaned forward just a fraction. "One. T—"

I met her halfway.

I pressed my lips to hers like weary pilgrim at the feet of a saint. My Bella didn't live atop a pedestal. Neither of us was under any misconception that we were anything but highly flawed individuals with an extensive background in mistakes and bad decisions. We'd both inflicted pain on each other and we'd both silently suffered our fair share. Despite all of that, and maybe because of it, her lips joined with mine felt like salvation. Her kiss was acceptance. Forgiveness that I felt I needed whether she agreed with me or not.

Bella's fingers curled around the ends of my hair and tightened just a bit. That sensation, that fuck-awesome feeling of her asking for me, snapped me out of my own head and fully tuned me to her soft mouth. Every nerve, every ounce of my mental faculties was focused on reciprocating her lips' desires. We kissed slowly, gently. I slid my hands up her back and held her closer, her chest pressing against mine. When her lips parted to suck in a quick breath, I was too overwhelmed to stop myself from scraping my teeth across her bottom lip and then licking the plump flesh I'd fantasized about and obsessed over for the entirety of my sexually active life.

Bella's seductive whimper did me in. That was it. That tiny, lustful sound was my breaking point at the very edge of sense. Her open mouth invited me in, accepting my tongue to taste her as I pleased. I plunged inside, claiming her mouth thoroughly. A moan was swallowed between us, impossible to assess to either one. When Bella posted up and tugged my hair, I flicked off sense and reason, flipping us over to toss her back to the leather sofa.

Between her legs wrapped tightly behind me, her heels digging into my ass, I was hard enough to poke a hole in concrete. My hands were trapped beneath her, unable to hold my weight from fully pressing her down, but she didn't seem to care. As our lips moved, that wonderful friction of her tongue gliding against mine, Bella writhed under me. She kept my mouth right where she wanted it, never loosening her grip in my hair.

The thick TOOL sweater separated her upper body from my bare chest, but only the thinnest pair of cotton lounge pants and that pitiful excuse for shorts covered us lower. I put up only the faintest resistance against my instincts. One more needy moan from Bella was all it took to break my thin resolve. I ground cock between her thighs, catching the precise pitch of her surprised whimper when the head grazed her clit. Fucking hell, she was already so warm, so wet that those tiny shorts were damp with her arousal. I could smell her all over me.

Jesus Christ, I wanted to taste her. I wanted to slide my tongue through her cunt more than I wanted my next meal. I'd be happy to make a meal of her dripping pussy for the rest of my goddamn life if she'd just lay there open for me forever. Fuck breakfast.

Shit. I really needed to slow down. I hadn't even copped a feel of her tits and I was already eating her out in my mind while my cock looked for a secret passageway past the button closure on my pants and the seam of her shorts. This was how everything went pear-shaped in the first place.

First rule: Don't repeat the same mistakes.

"We should stop." Bella captured my jaw between her hands, lips swollen, and eyes bright. We both panted as we caught our breath, but all I could do was kiss her again.

Plunging once more into her delicious mouth before nibbling at her lip, I couldn't hold back the small laugh. Bella forced my face away from hers. When I met her eyes, a confused crease appeared between her brows.

"What's so funny?"

"You," I remarked in amusement. "Me. Us. Get out of my head." Bella smiled, scratching her nails through the stubble on jaw. Fuck, that felt good. My dick twitched against her thigh. "If you keep doing that…"

"Sorry." Punky put on a contrite expression, though her fingers kept right on goading me. I lifted one eyebrow. "Okay," she shrugged. "Not sorry."

I lunged at her neck, holding her down when she yelped in surprise and pinning her hands above her head. I nipped at her neck, licking the slight flavor of salt from her warm skin. Bella arched up, a lustful moan reaching my ears.

"How about right here?" I spoke against her pulse. "My teeth permanently imprinted to your neck."

"Not for all the dead presidents in your trust fund," she answered while shoving at my chest. "I'm not wearing the carnivore's version of a collar around my neck."

I smirked, biting back a laugh. "Fair enough. But your ass is still open for discussion, right? Because if that's off the table…" I sat up, offering her my hand to help her stand.

"That's a little forward, don't you think? I mean you and my ass have hardly made the proper introductions and already you're proposing a permanent partnership?" Bella shrugged, turning away to saunter toward the door.

So sue me, but I couldn't let her walk away like that. I smacked her ass. She jumped, spinning around with wide eyes.

My answering smile was anything but apologetic. "Nice to make your acquaintance."

Punky stuck up her middle finger and waltzed out of my room. I stood there feeling equal parts smug and uncertain.

"We still need to lock up," she called from next door. "And then I thought you could join me for a sleepover."


	26. Chapter 26

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **Okay, you ladies are seriously a trip and I love you for it. Your reviews were sweet, hilarious, and very encouraging. Thank you. To answer recent questions: I don't know how many chapters remain. We aren't close to the end. Not sure if that is supposedly good or bad. Now, in this chapter I cracked myself up a few times, which means you will probably hate it. Or, if you enjoy it, congratulations; you're just a weird as I am.

* * *

**Chapter 26: Arson can be sexy**

**"Sweetheart, if you really deserve it, I'll spank you."**

Lately, Bella and I had gotten good at running the world off the rails right around dinnertime. Neither of us had eaten tonight, so after locking up we made chicken tacos. Well, Bella made tacos. I made a mess.

I had been good and kept my hands to myself while she held a very large knife or leaned over a hot stove, though I couldn't help but stand back and openly stare at her ass, her legs, or the curve of her neck where my TOOL sweater slipped off her shoulder because the collar was all worn out and too wide on her slender frame. I still liked the idea of getting my teeth tattooed there. I was becoming rather obsessed with the idea. But I'd settle for her ass.

I was aloud to look now, right?

"This is weird," I told her as I took plates and utensils from her to place in the dishwasher after our meal.

"I know," she agreed. "Two nights in a row I've got you helping clean the kitchen." She splashed a handful of water from the sink in my face.

That wasn't what I meant, though she had a point. I had spent so many years pretending not to watch her, pretending not to want her, I wasn't sure how to behave now. Wiping the soap from my cheek with one hand, I flicked her ear with the other. She cringed away, holding her earlobe with a look of terror in her eyes.

"Yeah," I nodded knowingly, "better behave yourself. I haven't lost my touch one bit."

"That's not fair," she argued with a scowl. "No flicking. If I really deserve it you can tickle me, but there will be absolutely no flicking. Grow up."

"Sweetheart, if you really deserve it, I'll spank you."

Her eyebrows shot up. Shit. Probably shouldn't have said that out loud. The words just sort of rolled straight up from the depraved part of my brain that lived in my dick and right off my tongue.

"Kidding," I muttered as I bent to pull the dishwashing detergent from the cabinet and fill the machine. She didn't respond. Pouring a few dribbles of thick gel into a tiny basin only took so long, and I had thoroughly exceeded that limit, so I had to stand and look at her again. "This is weird."

"Really?" Bella looked at me innocently for a moment before her eyes slid down my bare chest. "Why?"

"You're fucking with me."

"I am," she admitted with a smirk. "But only because a fumbling and insecure Edward is pretty much hilarious."

"I'm neither of those things," I was quick to argue. I sighed, running my hand through my hair. "We're not done talking."

If we had just gone straight from the sofa to her bed, straight from dressed to undressed and me sliding inside, we might have avoided this awkward moment. As it was, I had no clue what she wanted or expected and I needed her to just spit it out and give me some boundaries. Without them, I'd run her over. Left to my own devices, I'd fuck this up in spectacular fashion.

Her expression turned sober. "No," she exhaled, "I guess not."

Bella bit her lip. That behavior, a response to stress or anxiety, supposedly caused a chemical release to appease the nervous system. I wasn't sure if that was true, but it sounded good. She fidgeted with the hem of my sweater.

Why did I always call it my sweater? I hadn't actually given it to her, perhaps. It fell into her possession and I just never asked for it back.

She was nervous, despite her bravado. I was making her nervous and that was the last thing I intended. So stop being such a fucking pussy. I tugged at the front of my sweater until she came willingly into my arms. I slid one hand under the fabric to find bare skin at the small of her back. Bella held her breath and shivered just a little as I lightly brushed my fingertips up and down her lower spine. Looking down through my lashes, I watched her stare at my chest.

"Why doesn't it bother me that you wear this everyday?" She didn't answer. It was a rhetorical question. Frankly, neither of us probably had a good idea of why. Maybe it wasn't that significant. Not everything has to carry tremendous meaning. "In theory, you should hate this sweater, have burned it, and I should hate seeing you in it. This one particular sweater should have pissed me off every time I laid eyes on it, and your insistence in parading it in front of me should have felt like taunting. So why doesn't it?"

Bella pressed her small hands to my chest, her palms covering my pierced nipples. Just that small stimulation went straight to my cock. The three piercings formed a strategic triangle that for some reason always made me think of Nikola Tesla's magnifying transmitter. That was sort of bizarre and fucked up, but whatever.

"I kept it because it was all you left me with," she murmured.

On the ride home from the ill-fated party, Bella was cold. I reached into the back seat and grabbed the sweater. She had taken it off again by the time we were settled on the couch for the movie, but I had left it there that night and never bothered to retrieve it. It was a few months after Bella officially moved in that it became a near-permanent fixture on her body.

"I wear this because it's yours. It's you. It feels strong like armor and soft like a safety blanket." Bella turned those impossibly dark, remarkably deep eyes up to mine. I sank into them, mesmerized by her. "I wear it because I know you like that I wear it. When we're fighting, when we're not talking, I wear it because I'm trying to tell you I'm still here."

I still stared at her after she stopped talking. I continued to stare longer than was polite after such a declaration of meaningful honesty. My fingers continued to trace the contours of her spine because it felt fucking awesome to touch her and I found the minute details of her skin—the temperature and texture—absolutely fascinating.

Her hands twitched against my skin as bumps erupted over her lower back, tickling the calluses on my fingertips. I couldn't remember the last time I had feeling under those rough, hardened pieces of flesh.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?" I looked directly at her, put deeper and past the face looking up at me. I was inside her, digging around in the darkness of her eyes for a piece of myself.

"Say something," she urged me softly.

No. She'd said a lot, but I'd said more. "You first."

"Were you not listening?" Her voice sharpened with just a hint of irritation.

I had to work not to smile at how quick Punky's temper could flare and how damn cute she was when it did. "I hear everything you say."

"So…"

"So…" I mimicked. She'd catch on eventually. The longer this drew out, the more it felt like a game. I intended to win. We were nothing if not competitive.

"You're starting to piss me off," she hissed bitterly. My lips thinned with the effort not to react. Laughing at her now was not a good idea. She'd snip off my balls and feed them to me.

"And I think you like it," I told her honestly. "Really, Punky, at this point I think you have to be a glutton for punishment, as long as you've stuck around."

Her expression went flat. "You're nice to look at," she deadpanned. No inflection. A backhanded compliment delivered to perfection. Ego-bashing pain in my ass.

"Fine." I pulled my hand free and stepped away, shrugging casually. "Have a good night."

Turning away, I headed for the stairs. Just in case she caught my profile, I made sure not to grin like the smug bastard I felt. In my room, I sat on the edge of my bed and waited. To her credit, she made me sweat it out for a good, long while.

Magically, an indignant woman appeared in the doorway with a scowl on her face and her hands fastened to her shapely hips. I watched her patiently, accepting that climbing the stairs was only half the fight. This stage involved a staring contest as she decided on the best way to gracefully admit defeat. Punky was many things, but graceful wasn't in the top fifty. With a pencil, paintbrush, or shard of charcoal in her hand, sure. When words and that carefully constructed fortress of pride were on the line, not so much.

Maybe she got that from me. Or I got it from her. Perhaps we'd come upon it honestly in tandem. Either way, here we sat. Waiting. Measuring. Her torture was working well enough to chip away at my smugness. I slowly began to panic that she'd drop her eyes, sigh, and confess with remorse that I was way off. That happened sometimes. Some days I felt like I could practically read her mind. Other days we spoke two different languages and I had no idea how we'd mistranslated so terribly.

I was just about to make an excuse, give her an out to protect myself, when her eyes flashed with exasperation. "I love you, shithead. Now get your ass in my bed." She shoved her middle finger in the air as she spun on her heel and huffed off to her room.

Ah, the sweet, sweet taste of victory.

And now that I was granted a moment of private dignity, I released the breath I'd held too long and folded in on myself. I damn near had to throw up because my entire body was so goddamn relieved, expelling a breath didn't feel sufficient.

Suddenly, I was flat on my back and covered in Punky. She straddled me on the bed, her hands pinning my shoulders back. I looked up through liquid glass that made her look like a Dalí painting.

"You're an idiot," she told me with a reluctant smile. "Seriously, Edward. You're the most brilliant moron I've ever known. A certifiable dumbass genius."

Emmett was the genius; I just put on a convincing act. So she was half right. My hands slid up her thighs to grab her hips. How many fucking times I'd pictured this image: Bella on top of me, her hair loose and soft around her shoulders, and her legs spread right where I wanted them. And now I was hard again and poking at her barely concealed cunt. Well, her fault.

"But you love me," I answered more in awe than conceitedly.

"Yeah," she sighed and rolled her eyes sarcastically. "The hell is wrong with me?"

I reached up and caught her face, running my thumb over her lips. "Not a goddamn thing."

When Bella looked at me, really dropped the pretense and looked, her expression collapsed my chest. I felt her eyes swing a sledgehammer through my sternum and crush my lungs. I knew I was fabricating the illusion. I knew that it was something intrinsically human and female, not hereditary, but in that moment she looked like my mother. Not in a creepy Oedipus sort of way, but in the way Esme looked at my father. The thoughtful, blissful way a woman looks at a man when she sees him for who he is only for her.

"Is this still weird?" she asked as her fingers trailed over my shoulders.

"Less so."

"Now will you come to bed with me?"

I wrapped my arm around her waist and sat up. "We are in bed. On bed, at least."

"My bed," she smirked.

"Does this bother you? It isn't haunted, you know." Now was as good a time as any to get this ugly topic out of the way. If the subject was an issue for her, I'd happily set the thing on fire in the backyard, but she needed to tell me truthfully.

"I'm not interested in punishing you for every random barfly you've brought home. I basically guessed the motivation behind it a while ago. Hell, it was my idea. Not exactly what I had in mind," she added scornfully, "but I shouldn't be surprised that you took the advice and ran full speed in the wrong direction."

"But it's better this way, right?"

The thought had occurred to me early on. She'd told me to go find a nice girl with whom to have some warm fuzzies. Except that nice girls bored me. And while my dick could play the field without remorse—I hadn't completely lied to Punky; sex meant nothing to me if it wasn't with her—my heart was loyal to a fault. I couldn't love anyone but Bella, and I refused to tempt the possibility or lead on another woman. There were no girlfriends lurking in my past.

"Not to get all dickish and clinical at once, but you're the only time I haven't used a condom and, being brutally honest, I could really give a fuck about anyone else who's been in this bed."

Granted, I had the market cornered on quantity in this house, but Bella had never caught an eyeful. If I could get past the memory of Pencil Dick poking at her on the bed next door, surely she could adjust. Or was that the more dickish attitude? Oh, fuck it.

"I'll get a new one," I conceded before I put my foot any farther down my throat and successfully cockblocked myself for eternity. "New sheets and everything."

Bella draped her arms over my shoulders, her eyes light with humor. "No need to wake the AmEx right this second. I was jealous, sure. Can't help that. But it doesn't give me the creeps like I expect specters of booty calls past to circle over my head at night screaming your name."

"That would be terrifying."

"It would. We'd have to move. At that I'd put my foot down."

"No argument."

"I just want you in my bed tonight. Nothing against this one. It was very good to me during the blackout. I just want…"

"To stake your claim?" I raised an eyebrow, rather interested and impressed at her territorial instincts. "My scent on your sheets. Club me over the head and drag me back to your lair. How very alpha female of you."

"Do I get that from you or the other way around?"

"What?" I pushed back some of her hair that wasn't really in her eyes and tucked it behind her ear just because I had wanted to do that for fucking years.

"Make jokes to soften a serious moment. Kill the mood when it gets too heavy."

"Coping mechanism," I shrugged. "We both got dumped in the same shit can. It isn't especially unique."

"But it works."

"That it does," I agreed. I pushed her hair back and tucked it behind her other ear. That was way more satisfying than it should have been. "Well…I won't put up a fight. Did you bring your club with you? I'm heavy, but you're tough and I think you can manage the twenty feet between here and your room. Actually getting me on the bed might take some doing, but—"

She flicked my nipple ring. That devious little minx flicked the ring with the top of her nail and complete and utter disregard for the consequences. I probably wasn't supposed to enjoy it so much. She looked so damn proud of herself.

"You're in so much trouble," I growled. I easily hoisted her up as I stood and swung her over my shoulder.

She yelped, smacking my back and flailing her legs, laughing all the way to her room. "Put me down!"

"Nope." Her room was too close, so I just stood at the foot of her bed and dragged it out a little longer because I was enjoying myself immensely.

"Put me down!" she exclaimed louder, as if the volume made her more convincing with her head at my navel and her ass in the air.

I abruptly loosened my grip and let her drop toward the floor a little, feigning that I'd let her fall on her head. She screamed, but I immediately hoisted her back into place.

"You going to surrender and apologize?"

"Never!" Punky continued to struggle ineffectually, wiggling around over my shoulder. "I'm the alpha, I don't apologize," she laughed.

"Oh sweetheart, it's cute you believe that." I flipped her over my back and let her crash to the forgiving mattress behind me. Now this was quite a sight. Flushed and disheveled Punk panting for air, spread out on the bed before me. Very nice.

"You're having caveman fantasies," she told me with a sly smirk, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Definitely."

Bella crawled up to the top of the bed and pulled off my sweater, discarding it to the floor. Beneath it was a tight, practically transparent tank top I hadn't noticed before. It did fantastic things for her breasts the way it hugged them snuggly. I wanted to grab two handfuls and bite right through the fabric, tugging at her rigid nipples until she came or begged me to stop.

I wasn't that mysteriously gifted. I'd never made a woman come just by sucking on her tits, but I'd be willing to put in the time and effort to give it a try on that seriously perfect pair of breasts.

"Are you just going to stand there pointing at me or are you getting in?" Bella pulled back the covers, inviting me. Her eyes were planted firmly on my cock, which was, in fact, rudely aimed right at her.

I didn't answer, but slipped in next to her. We lay on our sides, soaked in tension that we'd skipped right past at the height of puberty. First kiss and first fuck in the same night. This was uncharted territory for both of us; retracing all the steps we'd missed over so many years.

"How do we do this?" I brushed my fingers over her cheek, down her neck and all the way to her waist. The small shudder that ran through her body when I skimmed her ribs only reinforced the primal, lesser-evolved part of me that responded to her femininity and vulnerability. Because she was vulnerable. To me.

Right now, in this moment, I could have her any way it pleased me. She wouldn't refuse. I felt it in her response to my touch, the way her pupils constricted, and her pulse raced. I wanted to take, possess. I wanted to get her under me, push inside her, and lay claim to what had been once and should have always been rightfully mine. We were way past blame now. All that was left was to mark my territory.

"I'm not sure I have an answer for that," she admitted softly. "But here's what I think: In a totally bent sort of way, it kind of feels like we've been in a really dysfunctional relationship for five years and just finally made up after we both realized we couldn't remember why we were fighting."

I couldn't help but laugh at that. It was a severe oversimplification that hardly scratched the surface of all the suck underneath. Nevertheless, I understood her logic. I guess that's why we worked and why we were still here. We just got each other and to hell with everyone else that couldn't deal.

"You're the philandering husband coming to terms with his mid-life crisis and I'm the frigid housewife—getting some on the side from the pool boy because my husband hasn't been in to flush the pipes in years—that set fire to your Ferrari because you asked if we were out of milk, but really because you left a birthday card on the dresser this morning but it isn't my birthday, and I can only assume your mistress turned twenty-three today and—"

I pinched her lips together, stupefied at the thorough and unfortunate history. "You've put some thought into this."

She pulled free of my fingers. "No, this shit just comes to me; rolls right off the top of my head."

"Extraordinary."

Her eyes turned bright as she nodded with a silly grin. "I know, right?"

"But you said we make up. The sincerely remorseful husband who's recently pulled his head out of his ass and the arsonist wife who, if just a touch psychotic, knows he can't survive without her."

"Yeah," Bella confirmed. "He comes crawling back with a château in Marseille and a fifteen-carat diamond pendant. The mistress has been indicted for fraud."

"Strangely, the missing sum is right about the going price for one French château and matching diamond."

"A remarkable coincidence," she adds innocently.

"They reconcile over a bottle of very fine scotch and a mind-altering sex."

"He's still middle-aged," she quipped. "He shouldn't get his hopes up. Boastfulness has always been one of her turn-offs."

"But they stay together for the kids."

"No kids. Her baby cave is still tight and vacant."

"Then what's the glue that holds them together?"

"Love," she answered because it was obviously the right answer. "And even though he's older and has lost some of the stamina of his youth, he's still got a wower of cock between his legs. She's shallow that way."

"Not shallow," I corrected, "just smart." I winked at her, but she refused to take the bait, even when it was still pointed right at her under the covers.

"And while she might have a thing for pretty flames and is, admittedly, just a touch…different, they're both fucked in one way or another. They don't really operate correctly with anyone else. They can't function alone and they don't really want to. They are each other's particular and preferred brand of crazy."

"Most people will say they're sick, hopeless."

"Most people are vapid imbeciles," she answered with staunch conviction. "Besides, they have to stay together for Tango and Cash."

"Tango and Cash?"

"The Golden Retriever and Chartruex."

"Ah," I nodded in understanding. "Of course. He loves that damn cat that pisses in his shoes and the slobbering dog that has chewed a hole through every Italian leather briefcase he's ever owned."

"See?" Bella threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, lightly scratching her nails against the grain. Seriously, this fucking woman knew exactly how to touch me. "They're perfect for each other. And now, after the uncomfortable distance has been put behind them, they simply fall back into their natural routine, picking up right where they left off."

"That doesn't sound so hard," I replied as I slid my hand under her tank top and skimmed my thumb across her stomach.

"It doesn't? I was going for horribly painful and embarrassingly awkward. Shit. Okay, let me start again…"


	27. Chapter 27

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **I can't wait to hear your reactions at the end of this one.

* * *

**Chapter 27: Perspective**

**Cockblocking bride of Betsey Johnson's Frankenstein.**

"I'm going to be late," Bella mumbled against my lips.

I ignored her, replacing my tongue in her mouth to shut her the hell up. The morning had gone much the same while she attempted to get ready and again while she made breakfast. I'd have preferred to stay in bed.

Bella went slack in my arms, letting me push her up against the wall down a narrow corridor at the end of a hallway inside the art building. I'd made it two classes this morning before I had to track her down. Now that we'd gotten it all out in the open, I couldn't think past the next time I could touch her.

"Seriously," she whimpered. "My professor will have a shit fit if I walk in late."

"Which class?"

Since she was so determined to ramble on, I diverted my attention to her neck and slid my hands around to the small of her back, pushing up my Bad Religion shirt she'd borrowed this morning and tied in a knot around her waist. I had a hard-on all the way to campus.

"Pho-tah-graphy lab," she stuttered, her voice hitching as I nipped at her skin. "Alice and I are—uh fuck—going shopping for my dress after that."

"Take my car," I answered, kicking her foot to the side so I could press between her legs. I was done listening and slanted my mouth over hers, again claiming her lips. She bit my tongue. "Fuck, Punky." I bit her lip for revenge and because I'd wanted to bite that damn lip for so fucking long.

"I've never kissed you with the tongue piercing," she stated with a smirk.

"And?"

"It's weird."

"Just imagine what it will feel like when—"

Bella didn't let me finish, but she got the message. Her fists grabbed at my hair, tugging by the roots as she plunged her tongue down my throat. Her leg came up around my hip and I held it there, basically dry humping her like a rutting stag.

"Smile!" A camera flash went off.

I snapped my eyes to the open end of the corridor and groaned.

"Shit, Alice. You scared me." Bella dropped her hands and I released her leg. She arranged her shirt, making sure everything was where it should be.

My dick went into hiding and I'm pretty sure it flicked off Tiny Tim. Cockblocking bride of Betsey Johnson's Frankenstein. "Delete that," I snapped.

"Are you kidding?" Alice let the Nikon camera hang from the strap around her neck. "I'm having it blown up and framed."

"No," Bella argued. We started walking toward her. "Delete it or I'll dropkick the camera across the parking lot."

Alice's neon pink lips twisted in consternation and her eyebrows furrowed. "You're not going to let me enjoy this even a little bit?"

"No," we answered in unison.

xXx

Tossing out the last of the orange chicken I'd bought for lunch—it was marginally better than eating my own shoe and I always regretted ordering from that place—I returned to my quiet corner of the student union reading room.

"Cullen, you handsome bastard, I'm going to kiss you!" Emmett didn't have an inside voice. What he did have was the ability to draw unwanted attention for three square miles. Every head in the room swung in his direction and watched as he came strutting over with Jasper right behind him.

"You know you just tanked your chances of ever getting laid again," I answered dryly. "By a woman."

He grabbed my arm, yanked me from my comfortable and quiet seclusion, and then squeezed both sides of my face like a fucking goldfish as he smacked a kiss right on my lips. He then threw me back into my chair.

"I love this asshole," he exclaimed to the room dotted with people who looked equally surprised, amused, and irritated that their sanctuary had been disturbed, which was a good word for Emmett at the moment.

"Okay, big guy. Sit your ass down before someone recruits you for a pride parade." I couldn't be embarrassed. Really, how could not I laugh? For that matter, Emmett's display of PDA didn't even break the top twenty on the list of most embarrassing moments I'd been subjected to in his company.

He and Jasper took the seats across from me. A table of girls nearby appeared fascinated with attempting to discern how the three of us might play out in their homoerotic fantasies. I couldn't help myself.

"He's a bottom," I remarked flatly. Their eyes widened, eyebrows rose, and one girl coughed ineloquently.

"Please stop," Jasper laughed. "I have a class with that girl." He nodded at the blonde with glasses. "Hi, Jennifer." She waved back awkwardly.

"Hi, Jenny." Emmett turned in his seat, sliding on that easy grin that made chicks trip over their panties falling around their ankles. "He's kidding. I love tits."

"On that note," I announced. "Let's quit before we're charged with harassment. Yeah?"

"Says the guy who had a certain brunette up against a wall an hour ago," was Jasper's retort.

"Thank you, by the way." Emmett reclined back in his seat, propping his foot up on the short table between us. "I made twenty bucks off Jazz."

"For fuck sake." I dropped my head back and ran a hand through my hair. "Will you two please stop running odds on me?"

"Not betting if," Jasper explained, "just when. We had a pool going."

"You two need lives," I groaned. "And you," I looked pointedly at Em, "need a girl."

"Way ahead of you." He proudly folded his arms behind his head. "I'm Rose out to dinner."

"I thought she hated you." Sure, Emmett was convinced that Rose was just playing hard to get, but so far Jasper agreed with me that "hard" was more like impossible.

"Oh, she does," he agreed readily. "I'm wearing her down. I fixed her pipes."

I sat up, biting back a laugh. "I'm sorry. What?"

"She hasn't had a working kitchen sink for weeks. She's being doing dishes in the bathroom. Alice mentioned that the manager at her apartment was being a dick about it, so I went over there and fixed it for her."

"And that bought you dinner?"

"Yep," he nodded confidently. "Tonight, since rehearsal is off. Ironed a shirt, ordered flowers, washed the Jeep—"

"You're going all out," I replied. For Emmett, ironing a shirt was a big step.

"She's out this afternoon with the girls on their shopping excursion," Jasper added.

"You two have plans?" I asked.

"Yep," he smiled slyly. "And they don't require a new outfit." Good on him. "With you two situated for the night, I can finally get Alice alone for more than a couple of hours."

"Take her. I'm happy to be rid of her."

Jasper smirked. He knew better. While I still found her infuriatingly annoying, Alice had slid from gnat buzzing around my face to obnoxious stepsister.

"So…" Emmett propped his elbows on his knees and made the sort of dreamy face one would expect to find on a teenage girl compulsively ogling the flavor of the week on TV. "How'd it happen? What'd you say? How many rooms did you dirty and is it still safe to eat off your kitchen counter?"

"We talked," I shrugged. "After I picked her up from the hospital—"

"Yeah," Jasper interjected, "how's she feeling? Bella texted me last night after they brought her in and I called Em. We were going to head over there but she told us not to bother."

"She's fine," I nodded. "She's got a bump on the head and some bruises. Nothing serious."

"And Jake?" I glared at Jasper. "I talked to her after you guys got home. She said Charlie had to break up a fight. You want to fill me in?"

"What's to say? He bruised her so I gave it right back. If she'd broken a bone I'd have broken his jaw." My fists clenched. I was suddenly in the mood to punt his face again.

"The way Bella told it," Jasper responded, "Jake might have avoided something much worse. I guess they spun out in a wet spot, but he swung the truck around and hit the tree with the bed rather than head on."

"And I should thank him for not killing her? Fuck that. I'd be in jail and he'd be in the ground."

"Hey," Jasper put his hands up in surrender. "I get it, man. We'd have helped you hide the body. I'm just saying, maybe cut him a little slack since it was just an accident."

"I've gotten Punky to and from home hundreds of time without a scratch on her. Why is that so hard?" I closed my eyes and exhaled irritably. "Can we just drop it? I damn near shit myself when she called and I'd rather not think about it anymore."

"Dropped and buried," Jasper agreed quickly.

"Besides," I added, "he's out of the picture." Jasper and Emmett shared a pointed look. "What?" I sat forward, examining them. "I'm not sharing. Bella damn sure knows that. We put it all out there. She knows I'm in love with her. End of story."

"Definitely," Emmett replied. "Everyone but you two idiots knew you were still stupid for each other."

"So what's with the fucking look?"

"They weren't dating," he told me. "They're friends."

"She can't fuck her friends either," I bit out.

"No, dumbass." Emmett rolled his eyes like a damn chick and sighed exaggeratedly. "He wasn't sticking it to her."

I winced at his choice of phrasing. "Please don't."

"They're really just friends," Emmett insisted.

"Bullshit."

"He's gay," Jasper announced. Once again, all eyes in the room turned in our direction. He lowered his voice. "Jacob's gay," he repeated. "That's why he moved in with his mom a few years ago. He and his dad had some big falling out. Now Billy's sick, so I guess Jake came back to help take care of him."

I laughed. Not because I thought it was funny, but because I didn't know what else to do. Shit, I could have been looking at ten years for a hate crime if Jake had ever decided to press charges. Oops. I sobered, however, when the realization hit me.

"And everyone knew," I accused. This was happening an awful lot lately. I didn't care for it one bit. "Jesus Fuck, guys. How long?"

"I'm guessing Bella knew back then," Jasper answered. "They were close before he moved away. After you two…"

"Yeah, yeah." I waved my hand through the air, telling him to skip that part.

"They used to spend a lot of time together," he continued. "So far as I know, they kept in touch. Alice, I think, has known since the day at the beach."

"But," Emmett interjected, "I'd like the record to show that we only found out last night. Dude," he pretty much pouted the word, "you're my brother. I'd have told you if I knew Bella had parked herself with a friend of Dorothy."

"Parked?" I didn't get it.

"Yeah," he shrugged. "Jake, according to Alice, isn't really out. More like he's got a toe out of the closet. So he gets Bella as his beard and she gets someone safe that makes her look unavailable. Parked."

I let that sink in and laughed again. Now it was funny. "I could kiss him."

"He might like it," Emmett snorted.

xXx

"You look fantastic," I whispered against Bella's ear as I helped her out of the car I'd hired for the night.

True to her word, she came armed with a flask and I'd supplied the whisky. I planned to have a good buzz going by the end of the night and was well on my way there by the time we pulled up in front of the music hall on campus.

"You said that already," she answered with a smirk.

I wrapped my arm around her waist, appreciating the soft slide of her sapphire dress under my fingers. It was tight, simple, elegant, and perfect against her pale skin. Alice certainly had an eye for fashion; I couldn't argue that. Right down to the black herringbone Converse All Stars Punky wore.

"And it's worth repeating." I maneuvered us to the far side of the courtyard that led toward to the main entrance, avoiding the others walking up from the parking lot.

"Well, you look pretty spiffy, too." Bella needlessly adjusted my tie, tugging on the end as she said, "I'd do you."

"Fuck, sweetheart." I tugged her hips against mine as I backed up against one tall pillar of the covered walkway. "Screw it. Let's blow this scene. What can they really do to me if I bail?"

"Tempting." Bella stared at my chest. She unbuttoned my jacket to sneak her hands inside. Teasingly, her fingertips gently brushed over my pierced nipples. I exhaled roughly, pressing my growing hard-on against her lower stomach. "But then I would have gotten all dressed up for nothing."

"Not for nothing," I answered quickly. My hands slid down from her hips, finding the bare skin of her outer thighs and trailing up to the hem. "Leave the dress on if you want. I can reach everything I need right where it is."

"You're awfully sure of yourself," she countered. Bella's fingers continued to glide enticingly back and forth across my nipples, making it damn near impossible to restrain myself from hoisting her up and pinning her to the pillar. "Expecting me to give it up on the first date. What kind of girl do you think I am, anyway? "

"A sure thing." I lowered my lips to her neck, kissing below her ear and then sharply biting at the skin throbbing over her pulse. Bella hissed in response, fisting her hands in my shirt. "I've thought about touching you, kissing you, running my tongue over every inch of your body, for so goddamn long, sweetheart." I licked over the slightly pink skin where my teeth had been, speaking softly at her neck. "All I've thought about since last night is getting inside you. And I bet if I slid my fingers between your legs, I'd find you wet and wanting."

"Edward." Bella whispered my name like a plea. Her head lulled to the side, allowing me access as I lightly pressed my lips to her warm skin.

I ran one hand into her hair, cupping the nape of her neck. "I still remember what you taste like," I told her. And I did. Vividly. Bella shivered in my arms.

"Mr. Cullen." Dr. Richardson's sharp exclamation startled Bella and she went rigid before abruptly pulling away. I looked up with flat indifference at my professor over her shoulder. "I do believe that the attendance policy is predicated on entering the building," he continued. "Perhaps you'd be so good as to escort your," he swept his eyes over Bella, "date inside."

He said the word like it left a sour taste in the back of his throat. Date. That got my back up and I stood straight, taking a step forward. Bella immediately stuck her arm through mine, holding me in place. I guess the idea to hit him or otherwise jeopardize my enrollment in this university had crossed my mind, but that happened every time I attended his class.

"Works for me," Bella answered brightly as she smacked a disingenuous smile on her on her lips. "I get paid either way." With that, she tugged me along to the entrance.

"You're terrible," I whispered with amusement as I paused to hold the door open for her. "And I love you."

"I know," Punky replied with a sly wink. I smacked her ass when she entered in front of me.

xXx

Since we were among the last stragglers to file into the music hall, Bella and I happily took two seats on the far right aisle in the back of the audience just as the dean took the stage. He prattled on for more than three minutes about recent alumni accolades, and the music college's tradition of blah, blah, blah. I tuned him out, instead entertaining myself with running my fingertips over Bella's bare knee and tracing the little bumps that blossomed over her skin.

We passed the flask back and forth—discreetly at first and then with increasing lack of shit-giving—while a panel of two doctoral professors and a guest lecturer went on ad nauseam about the modern business landscape for classical musicians and composers.

"Is it just me," Bella leaned over to ask, "or does the one in the middle look like he could have been featured on America's Most Wanted in the '80s." I bit back a laugh, squeezing her knee. "Seriously. Look at that mustache. He looks like a serial killer. You know," she went on as her whisper became less unobtrusive by the syllable, "they show a picture of a guy recently convicted on the news and you're like, 'Yep. He looks exactly like a guy who would cultivate rare orchids, raise chinchillas in his backyard, and keep severed human heads mounted on the wall in his basement.'"

"But he was always so polite," I stated with affected shock. "Willard was quiet and kept to himself. He brought his trash cans in from the curb on time and watered his lawn."

Bella snickered. "I blame the schools," she added with mock seriousness. "And violent television poisoning our youth."

"I heard," I began after taking a swig from the flask and handing back to her, "that poor Willard's mama used to dress him up in skirts and make him serve tea at her book club meetings every Sunday afternoon."

Well," she drawled in a terribly exaggerated southern accent, "I reckon that explains why his mama's head was found fixed atop a fifteen-foot stack of Oprah's Book Club selections on the front lawn of the public library."

"Shhh!"

We both glanced behind us at the chastising sound. It was one of those irritated shushes that came out louder, and therefore more conspicuous, than the conversation it sought to admonish. Bella lost it; she burst into strangled laughter. I slapped my hand over her mouth, cradling her head to my shoulder to shut her up.

The senior citizen behind us—maybe a member of the faculty or just a local resident who had nothing better to do than attend the public event—could have easily passed for the unspoken but mutual vision Bella and I shared of Willard's mother. It was fucking priceless. That face could drive a man to serial murder.

"She's very sorry," I told the woman. "My sister's a bit touched in the head." She scowled, not softened by what I thought was a charming smile. Bella tried prying my hand from her mouth, but I wouldn't budge. "Her crib was lined with lead paint—"

Punky bit me. "Ow. Fuck," I hissed and yanked my hand from her teeth. She'd gotten me pretty food, the feisty little shit. "Behave," I snapped at her teasingly. Bella's satisfied grin was wide and her eyes were bright with mischief. "You know what father said. If you can't control yourself, we'll have to send you back to the hospital."

"I'll be good," she pouted. Bella leaned toward me, propping herself up with one hand on the armrest between us. "Please, Edwin. Don't tell daddy. I'll do anything." Her other hand slid provocatively over my thigh just as her lips met my jaw. Goddamn.

"Okay, Beatrice." I took the point of her chin between my thumb and forefinger, looking at her sternly. "I'll let you play with Mr. Rogers again, but this is the last time I cover for you." Yes. In that scenario my cock was named Mr. Rogers. I don't know why.

Punky nodded empathically, making a show to zip her lips and tuck the imaginary key into my breast pocket before primly settling back in her seat with eyes trained to the front.

The guy next to me leaned over. "That's your sister?"

I kept my expression flat, eyes on the stage, and I barely titled my head in his direction. My hand slid up Punky's thigh as I answered him. "Twin."

xXx

As the evening wore on, Bella kept me amused and sauced through the remainder of the lecture and then the following talkback. When the dean again took the stage to announce Demetri, I found that I'd relaxed considerably from my edgy demeanor before we'd left the house and the previous week.

Much to my relief, the dean made no mention of me. I wasn't sure why I had been so convinced that Demetri's presence surely meant that my name would be paraded out for the audience, begging that I reluctantly stand for acknowledgement. I hadn't toured in years, and even then it was only a small population who would have heard of me. I hadn't been a staple of the morning shows or fluff pieces on the evening news since I was child. Interest in me was relegated only to the audience that followed classical music. Shit, there were four-year-olds in China who were probably already surpassing my once-bright talent.

I guess that made me an arrogant prick, wrapped up in my own ghost. I wasn't here as a novelty. I wasn't special among this crowd. I was just another student attending a required function. The dean's personal invitation was probably just a matter of formality he felt obliged to uphold.

Bella took my hand and entwined her fingers with mine as the audience applauded for Demetri. He crossed the stage, offering a tight nod before taking a seat at the piano. He looked essentially the same; a little taller, a little thinner than the slightly overweight kid I'd once known and always despised.

Competently, he launched into a selection from Stravinky's Petrukska. It was a good choice, widely considered the last time Stravinksy was really, well, Stravinsky. Demetri played it suitably. He lacked sensitivity to the inherent emotion of the piece, taking the song out of context from the ballet and therefore disarming it of meaning, and he favored his left hand in an obvious way.

Demetri played the song for impact. He chose what the listener should feel and when, rather than trusting the intended meaning to come through faithfully from the original. And even that manufactured emotion felt inauthentic. His rendition was like asking someone who had never tasted saffron to somehow replicate the flavor. As a person and a musician, he lacked depth. He was emotionally sterile, which was perhaps the greatest offense he brought to the piano.

We were philosophically at odds. I doubted very much that he had any special affinity for music. He touched the keys as a student who had been instructed to do just so. His body was rigid on the bench, immune to the harmonies that poured out from his hands. It had always been my assumption that Demetri played for money, recognition, and because somewhere along the lines he'd been told to do so and excel at it in the process.

Of course, one cold say that it made me a hypocritical asshole to condemn a man's pursuit of fame and fortune when I had both and required neither. But I hadn't practiced twelve to fifteen hours every day for the checks it earned me. I hadn't endured muscle cramps and tedious repetition for the satisfaction of my name on a marque.

I played because I fucking loved the piano. The first time I set my fingers to the keys, I was fascinated, enthralled. The first time I performed on stage for a crowd that had paid to see me, I knew I'd found my purpose in life and nothing would ever fulfill me the same way.

I realized then, as I stared down at my leg, that the fingers on my left hand pantomimed the notes while my foot rode the imaginary pedal. My head pounded, whether from the whisky or the persistent agitation I'd felt for the last week.

What truly made me sick? The memory of why I gave up my passion or the effort it took to abstain in favor of nursing my fear and anxiety?

"Baby," Bella whimpered at my ear. "You said you'd take me to the Taylor Swift concert. There aren't even any words to this song."

I tried for a smile in return, though I'm sure I failed. To her credit, Bella didn't let it show if she was disappointed that her joke didn't have the desired outcome. I kissed her temple, squeezing her hand a little tighter. For the remainder of the performance, my fingers wandered through the air with my tongue piercing flicking through my teeth like a metronome.

xXx

The reception was dry; dry conversation, dry personalities, dry of anything mood-altering to imbibe. We'd finished off the last of the flask while trekking across the courtyard to the reception hall. Bella made a valiant effort to dig my demeanor out of the ditch, but I found myself distracted.

"Hey." She tugged the end of my tie, demanding my attention. We stood off in a corner of the room, doing our best to simply survive the night unnoticed. "If you don't at least pretend to stare at my tits or cop a feel of my ass, I will be forced to drastic measures."

Okay. Now I was listening. "I'm sorry," I apologized with equal parts sympathy and curiosity. "I don't mean to ignore you."

"I'm here to distract you and otherwise generally save you from yourself, right?"

"Essentially," I nodded. "And you've been great company. I'm just—"

"I know," she answered thoughtfully. "But how can I charm you with my biting wit if you keep scanning the room like someone is going to jump out and attack at any second?"

"Good point." Reflexively, my eyes roamed over the top of her head. She tugged my tie again. Right.

"Ask me to dance."

"You hate dancing," I scoffed. "More to the point, you can't dance. You sort of have this flailing, jerking, Elaine Benes thing that you do, but it definitely isn't dancing."

Punky fisted her hand in the waistband of my pants and abruptly tugged me against her chest. With narrow eyes and a low voice she said, "Listen, Cullen. When a woman gives you an invitation to handle her in public, you count your lucky stars and take her to the floor."

Fuck I loved this girl. Without delay, I escorted her to the center of the room where mostly faculty and a few students danced to the live string ensemble. As my mother had taught me, I took Bella's waist and one hand in mine, leading her confidently through the waltz. She proceeded to step on my feet on every third beat.

"Let me lead," I insisted against her temple.

"I am," she argued. "I thought you knew what you were doing."

Her challenge provoked me. I pulled her body flush against mine, trapping her hand to my shoulder. My steps became less about the traditional choreography and more a display of my sure ability to command her body. Bella sucked in a sharp breath, tensing before releasing her muscles to my control. As she relaxed, her head came to rest against my chest.

"Not half bad, huh?"

"This isn't even dancing anymore," she rebutted, though all the argument had left her tone. "This is just foreplay."

"Sweetheart," I replied in a low voice, "leaving the house was foreplay."

"May I cut in?"

Oh for the love of Christ. How was it statistically possible that in a single day I could be interrupted three times from wooing-yes, fucking wooing her panties right to the goddamn floor-the woman I needed to bed with a fiery urgency that threatened to cripple my dick? Seriously. I wanted an answer. Was this my punishment for years of inaction? Here. You finally have the object of your desire within your grasp. Now the universe will conspire against you and force you into eternal celibacy. Fuck.

I closed me eyes, held Bella firmly against my chest, and didn't lose a step as a curtly replied, "No."

"Not even for an old friend?" he asked in a thick Russian accent.

Bella hesitated in my arms. I squeezed her hand, urging her not to react. "Touch her, and I'll break every bone in your hand," I stated flatly. Bella's fingers closed around my lapel.

"And then what happened?"

I looked up from the ruled lines of my notebook with indifference. Not-doctor Reid appraised me. Not-doctor, because she was only a doctoral student assigned to the student counseling center. According to my father, she'd come recommended from my former therapist who was a colleague of her advisor. Apparently, she was perfect for me. I had yet to figure out why.

"You already know the answer to that," I replied.

She was dressed in a plain, casual shirt and jeans. That always bothered me. I hadn't dressed up for our appointment. I never did. Nevertheless, it seemed only proper that the therapist should at least attempt a look of professionalism. I had followed her rules thus far; I had spent days transcribing the last several weeks into notebooks. I had mostly answered her questions. The least Not-doctor Reid could do was wear a blouse with buttons and a collar while she listened to me confess my soul.

"Specifically, no. You came to me as a bargain. Expulsion from the university and face charges or consent to counseling. But why are you here?"

"Asked and answered."

She wanted to sigh. I saw it in her eyes. She refrained, adjusting her posture in the chair across from me instead. "You fractured his jaw."

"No."

"No? That's what I read from the initial complaint. Is it inaccurate?"

"Not Demetri."

"Right." She glanced down at her iPad. "Aro. Demetri's mentor."

My fists clenched. I toyed with my tongue piercing inside my mouth. "He approached us next."

"Aro put his hand on your shoulder."

"Yes."

"That's it."

I didn't respond.

"He put his hand on your shoulder and then you fractured his jaw."

I remained silent.

"How?"

That provoked me enough. "How?" She nodded once. "With my fist. I punched him."

"I didn't know that was possible."

"Really?" It felt like she was toying with me, looking for a reaction. "Of course it is."

"One punch."

"Just one," I repeated. "That's all it takes if you do it right."

"Had you done it before? Fractured a man's jaw."

"No."

"But you'd considered it. Specifically that injury. You'd considered how to do it right."

"I knew I wanted to hit him as hard as I could. I did."


	28. Chapter 28

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **Okay. Obviously there was some confusion at the end of the last chapter. I get it. I also assure you that all of the answers were right there on the page. To recap: While at the reception, Edward was approached by Demetri and then his mentor, Aro, whom he knocked the fuck out. Cut to Not-doctor Reid's office in the student counseling center where Edward is in mandated therapy after the fact. The story thus far has been Edward's retelling of the events of the last several weeks-the series of events so far and the weeks to come. Got it? Eh, you'll figure it out. Think cinematically. Like cutting back and forth from Fred Savage's bedroom in _Princess Bride_. See? All makes sense now. :-)

Oh, and there is a little treat at the end for you… *exaggerated wink*

* * *

**Chapter 28: No quick fix**

**"Don't run from me again..."**

"You describe sex in vivid detail," Not-doctor Reid observed. "Your recent encounters and personal thoughts."

I had no response to that worth lending a voice.

"But not your abuse. You refer to it often, though you hesitate to elaborate."

"And I won't," I stated definitively.

The topic was irrelevant to this discussion. For that matter, it was not pertinent to the purpose of these sessions. I was to submit to counseling for the duration of the semester, at which point she would deem me reasonably fit to continue my enrollment or recommend more drastic consequences. We'd gotten the topic of my lack of remorse for the altercation with Aro out of the way at the outset. The only question left to answer was whether I was, in fact, a loaded gun primed for violence, and therefore a threat to others and myself.

It was all a bit melodramatic for my taste. It wasn't like I attacked the man without a good reason.

She was aware of my history. At Carlisle's urging, I had consented to have my former therapist release his notes to Not-doctor Reid. I was reluctant at first, certainly. Ultimately, I faced the reality that I could unload the burden in one fell swoop or allow this woman to painfully pick at the wounds little by little. The decision was entirely selfish.

"Why?"

My initial instinct was to resent her for asking such an insensitive question. But then we weren't here to coddle me, were we? Academically, I knew she wanted a thoughtful answer that pried deeper than aversion.

"I curse a lot," I began, "as you might have noticed." She remained silent, patiently allowing me to expound in my own time. "Fuck is my favorite word, by far. It suits me. I've heard that cursing, swearing, whatever you want to call it, actually triggers stimulation in a particular part of your brain that relieves tension and eases pain. I don't know if that's true. For me, as an isolated case study, I'll tell you I like it.

"But truthfully, I don't think my use of language requires an explanation. People tell us that we shouldn't say such words in polite company. Supposedly, cursing makes you sound unintelligent and crass. I say, why the fuck is that my problem? Society imbues words with meaning. I choose not to subscribe to their conventions. I choose not to find the words offensive. I like the way the words fit in my mouth. Essentially, to me, they mean nothing more than the space they fill in a sentence."

"You've also curtailed your exposition concerning your sexual experiences with Bella," she aptly noted. "Real and not imagined," she added with a touch of amusement.

"Exactly. Now we understand each other."

"I'd like to hear more." Not-doctor Reid settled back in her chair. "Are you ready to continue?"

xXx

"Why did you lie about your parents?"

The song I just couldn't escape played disjointedly in my mind as I leaned against the window of the hired car for which I was now paying overtime after a trip to the hospital to have my broken hand fixed up. Considering the damage and outrage we'd fled from at the seminar, it wasn't that bad. I could probably still play the gig tomorrow night. It would hurt, but I could manage.

Bella looked at me first with incredulity and then a scathing scowl. "Really? That's the question you want to ask. Right now. Fuck, Edward. Do you have idea how much trouble you're in? We should have stayed. They definitely called the campus police."

"Yes, I want to know. Yes, I have a pretty good idea to what degree I'm fucked. No, if we stayed I wouldn't have only hit him once."

She slouched in the seat next to me. In the front seat, the driver kept his eyes on the road, ignoring us with professional ease. "I was a kid," she huffed.

"We haven't been kids since we were five," I answered without remorse. I had never mourned the loss of my childhood and innocence. It had never occurred to me to do so.

"That's what I told everyone," she answered after a weighted pause. "You didn't grow up like I did. You didn't go to school at first, subjected to other kids. When everyone knows you're adopted, they ask the same question constantly: What happened to your parents? When you tell them it was a car accident, that's the end of the conversation. They assume it was a gory mess and then move on to pitying you silently."

Bella looked out the opposite window, her features cast in alternating shadows as we passed other cars on the highway. "What do you suppose they'd say if told them my parents were murdered in a home invasion? You can't get out of that with a two-word response. Were you home at the time? Did you see it happen? Did you scream when you saw the bullet punch a hole in your father's head? Why are you still alive?"

She turned her eyes back to mine. They were cold, tired. "I had told the lie for so long that it was just a reflex. I'm sorry."

I took her hand, tugging her closer until she rest her head on my shoulder. "It's okay. I get it. I just needed to know." I exhaled against her hair, pushing it back over her shoulder. "I didn't really care that you'd lied—yes, we were young and I can't really hold it against you—but that there was something so important about you that I didn't know. That part hurt."

"Imagine how I felt when you stopped talking to me," Bella replied bitterly. I deserved that. No question. "This amazing thing happened, and then something terrible, and I couldn't go to my best friend. And because it was you, us, I couldn't talk to anyone else about it, either. I've never felt so alone."

"The car battery is still an option," I reminded her. "No time limit on that one."

"It wouldn't be very sporting now," she laughed softly. Bella lightly knocked her knuckles on the cast that stretched up to my wrist. "I'll wait until you're back in fighting shape."

"You want to pretty me up?" I purposefully went with a white cast so Punky could color me in.

"Sure." She ran her fingers over the coarse texture. "Maybe a scene from _Lethal Weapon_?"

"Funny."

"Or a design of yellow police tape." She looked up, smirking childishly.

"You're a riot. Hysterical."

"So…" Bella sat up, leveling her inquisitive gaze with mine. "Now that the ice has been sculpted into a lovely, steaming pile of shit, do you want to tell me what the hell happened back there?"

I wasn't entirely sure where to begin. She was there, after all. What more could I offer as an explanation?

Demetri had stubbornly refused to fuck off. He insisted on trying to engage me in conversation, asking that I introduce Bella. I was impressively rude, but to no avail. The mild altercation lasted just long enough for the song to end. The DJ in the back of the room thanked the string ensemble as he took over, putting on some playlist that I tuned out.

I was about to escort Bella away, determined then that I had sufficiently paid my dues and was well within my rights to get the fuck out of there. Then Aro approached us. I stiffened immediately. I hadn't seen him in a decade, but my instinctual reaction to him was just as potent. He repulsed me. Just the misleading smile on his tight lips that spoke with an English accent was enough to incite me to rage.

I might have been thirteen the last time I saw him. Aro had been Demetri's mentor and manager for the entirety of his career. That relationship made me uncomfortable at first, for obvious reasons. As the years went on and we sporadically encountered one another, I became increasingly leery.

Aro was easily thirty year's Demetri's senior, and I was certain now the man had taken a special interest in the boy for more than his musicianship. At thirteen, the last time I was in the same room with the Aro, he put his hand on my thigh. It wasn't innocent and it wasn't meaningless. I bolted. Obviously. I ran to my father, told him exactly what had happened. We were in Stockholm at the time. Carlisle abruptly canceled the rest of my scheduled dates in the region and we soon boarded a plane home. It was there and then that my father agreed I'd never attend another event where Demetri's name also graced the program.

The ban held until tonight. He put his hand on my shoulder.

And that's what I told Bella. I recounted the memory, carefully looking out the window to avoid meeting her eyes.

"Strangely," I admitted after a long silence, "I'm sort of glad that he approached me. I'm glad he gave me enough of a reason." I turned my attention back to her. "Don't let anyone tell you that hitting never solved anything. I feel a lot better. Cheaper than therapy and the results are immediate."

"Carlisle is going to lose it this time, Edward. This is a lot worse than giving Mike a bloody nose."

"Doubtful." I slouched back in the seat, draping my cast over Bella's lap to trace my fingers along the bare skin on her knee. "I completely forgot to mention the seminar to my dad." Bella's head again lulled to my shoulder. "He'll probably be more upset that I went at all. But it wasn't like I wanted to tell anyone why I shouldn't attend."

"Charlie—"

"I'm throwing you to the wolves on that one. Run interference for me until I've talked to my dad's lawyers."

"Tell me honestly." Bella slid her arm under my jacket and across my stomach. "How bad is thing going to get? Because if they come for you with handcuffs I might lose my shit and start a standoff."

I laughed, kissing the top of her head. "Aro can press charges. I might get kicked out of school. Probation at worst if it goes to trial," I assured her. "I can afford to pay him off if needed."

"But you won't."

"No. I won't." I'd rather put a bullet in my head than give that vile bastard a dime or pretend to feel remorse for my actions.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"I am now."

xXx

I tried to sneak a peek at my cast, subtly tilting my head just enough to look toward Bella as she painted. She immediately smacked my arm and used her body to shield her latest—albeit temporary—addition to her living canvas.

"I'm almost done," she whined. "Stop it."

I lay shirtless and sprawled out on my bed, an old towel under my arm, as Bella went about her work. We'd gotten home well after midnight. I decided to put off damage control until morning. Instead, we holed up in my room after locking the house and pretended we hadn't a care in the world.

"I heard something interesting today," I said.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep."

"Want to share?"

"I'm thinking about coming up with some sort of punishment for your secrets."

Bella didn't miss a beat, just kept right along painting while I stared at the ceiling. I had a headache.

"As it turns out, Jacob isn't the Punkyfucker of infamy he was purported to be."

"You drew that conclusion all on your own," she replied casually. "I don't recall you ever asking the question outright."

"But you let me assume."

"You can make an ass of yourself all on your own, yes."

"Did you—back then—did you—"

"Turn him gay?"

I glanced in her direction again and got a streak of green paint across my stomach for the trouble. I sighed impatiently, closing my eyes.

"No. I can't take credit for that, but thanks for asking."

"That's not what I meant."

"We're friends," she stated as if she was sick of hearing herself say the words. "You could have just asked."

"I didn't have the right."

"Yes, Edward, you did. That's the point."

"Right. Sorry."

I heard Bella spray something over the cast before she shifted her position on the bed next to me. "Okay. Done."

Sitting up, I inspected the result. The landscape was spectacularly detailed considering the small size and rough texture of the canvas. "Bella." I couldn't take my eyes off the painting, turning my wrist over to scan every inch. "This is amazing."

"Don't sound so surprised," she teased.

"No. I mean it. Fuck, Punky. You know I think you're beyond talented, but this is incredible."

She leaned closer, admiring her work. "It's the meadow," she said softly. "The one we found the summer after sixth grade."

"I know," I replied quickly. The scene was impossible to mistake. She'd captured the wide clearing surrounded by trees at sunset exquisitely. It was really astonishing. "You realize I can't ever take this cast off, right? This is too good to ruin."

"That day was the most fun I've ever had," Bella replied wistfully.

"Sure," I agreed sarcastically. "We trudged for hours through the woods hunting for buried treasure with a fake map. You twisted your ankle, I had some gnarly bite from fuck knows what, and then we got lost on our way home. Charlie had to send the dogs and half the town out after us. We were freezing and soaking wet by the time they found us that night."

"It was awesome," she insisted. "We had an adventure. And even though we never went back there, I held on to the memory." Her eyes lifted to mine and I saw the glassy swell of tears that formed there. I reached out for her, sliding my hand to cup her cheek. "We don't have to frame the memory to make it real. It doesn't have to hang on a wall to last. For one day, this place was us. I never forgot about it."

"Neither did I," I told her truthfully. "Never, Bella." I touched my lips to hers reverently: as a promise, a confession, and confirmation. "I love you."

"Show me." Bella pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. What I saw cut me open. She was so vulnerable in her bravery, so beautiful in her need.

I kissed her again, purposefully and with every ounce of sincere meaning I could imbue into just two lips. I kissed her to say that she had always been mine, and I hers. We'd gotten all mixed up and separated along the way. I had let my fear and loathing live me rather than taking the Las Vegas of my bullshit by the balls. But this kiss, this one and the countless more I would offer, admitted fault. I wouldn't be that man again. Bella deserved someone stronger, someone dependable; I would become that man or die trying.

Freeing her of clothing an inch at a time, I worshiped every perfect surface of her body. Fingers followed lips over the expanse of her stomach. Hands held her breasts when each tight nipple met my tongue. I traveled the ridges and valleys of her collarbones and shoulders, professing my loyalty against her neck.

Bella lay back on my bed while I descended lower, removing her little shorts. Slowly, meticulously, I caressed her bare thighs and higher. Her entire body quivered as I laved at her warm, wet pussy. I devoured her, cupping her ass and lifting her to meet my mouth.

To every little whimper and moan, I doubled my efforts; rubbing precisely against her clit, sucking and tonguing the sensitive nub, watching in fascination when her back arched until she grabbed my head and forced me more firmly into her cunt. My tongue burrowed shallow inside her, savoring the taste and introducing her to the pleasure I could offer with the barbell piercing. She came hard, crying out sharply. I licked every drop and then some.

Climbing up the bed, I shoved my pants free of my legs. My cock strained for her, hard and eager. "Bella—"

"Don't run from me again," she pleaded so softly that there was hardly a sound to accompany the movement of her lips. "Just stay with me. Please."

I reached for the bedside table to pull out a condom.

"You don't have to," she whispered. "I've been on the pill since I was eighteen."

"Are you sure? I get tested," I assured her. "I was at the student clinic two weeks ago."

"I trust you, Edward." Those words simultaneously filled me with immeasurable pride and utterly destroyed me. Really, what had I ever done to deserve them?

Settling between her legs, I fisted my cock in my left hand and dragged the head through the slick lips of her cunt. I shuddered, the feel of her so hot and wet. I had to suck in a breath and clench my jaw, concentrating on keeping my shit together long enough to make this good for her. I propped myself up on my right forearm beside her head.

"I'm ready," she encouraged. "Please."

I pushed inside her, groaning through my teeth as she stretched to accommodate me. I pulled back a little and slid farther inside. We both exhaled sharply when I was fully sheathed and pressing against her cervix. Fuck, it was too good. She was so goddamn tight, clutching me like a fist. If I just stayed like this, nothing bad would ever happen and we could enjoy the bliss indefinitely.

But of course I couldn't.

I began to move, slowly and with shallow thrusts at first, barely pulling out before plunging back home. We kissed and huddled close; her arms and legs wrapped snuggly around my back as I made love to my Bella. Quickly, the need became too much. Bella's muscles fluttered around my cock in response to my increasing pace and force. Tiny whimpers turned to throaty moans. I couldn't hold off any longer.

"Bella, fuck, I'm coming." With eyes clenched and my jaw locked painfully, I pumped until I spilled deep inside her. My stomach rolled as the inescapable images assaulted my mind. Every muscle tensed. My skin crawled.

"Edward, look at me. Please." I felt her hands grab my face and I flinched. "I'm here. It's just me. No one can hurt you. Look at me." I barely cracked the seal between my eyelids. Just a sliver of Bella's face made it inside. "You're okay. You're okay, Edward. It's not real."

She continued to whisper reassurances as I caught my breath and swallowed down the bile on my tongue. Bella nursed me through the panic attack during a shower and on until my body finally gave up and shutdown to sleep.

It was better and worse than I had expected. The morning was unknown.


	29. Chapter 29

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Chapter 29: Fuck you, Stephen King**

**Like a damn Slip N' Slide baking under the equatorial sun.**

I woke to the subtle stimulation of Bella toying with one of my nipple rings. I pulled in a deep breath full of her scent, aware of her warm, naked body curled around mine. My right arm, however, had lost all feeling under her pillow. Perhaps forever. I'd learn to live without it because I had no intention of moving.

"Hey," I greeted her.

"Hi." Bella's dark eyes smiled. She pressed a kiss to my chest, her middle finger rolling back and forth across one piercing.

"Having fun?"

"These are sort of fascinating." She looked up from under her lashes with a coy tilt to her lips. "I've wanted to do this for a while now," she admitted. "Pretty much since the day you came home with them."

"All yours, sweetheart. Knock yourself out."

Bella dragged her leg up my thigh, brushing against my erect cock. "You know..." She repeated the action twice more. "I haven't actually seen it. I sort of forgot to look at it last night. The hardware, I mean."

I stuck my tongue piercing out, to which Punky looked at me with confusion. "It's like that, only it's in my dick."

"Does it...hurt?"

"No. Feels pretty goddamn fantastic."

"I'm not complaining." She bit her lip. For that, I grabbed her leg and held it against my groin.

"You don't have to ask, Punky. You want to get aquatinted, you go right on ahead."

She shrugged. "Eh. Maybe later."

Infuriating little ego-basher. I grabbed her by the back of the neck and claimed her lips, nipping at the bottom one. That'd teacher her. I didn't know what the lesson was, but she learned it.

Taking Bella by the hips, I hauled her up to straddle me. "Fuck, sweetheart. You're wet." Like a damn Slip N' Slide baking under the equatorial sun.

"I had a very entertaining dream," she replied while pressing her lips to the base of my throat. "But you were still asleep."

"Hence the subtle wake-up call?"

"Something like that," Bella murmured.

Her pussy slid back and forth over my cock. She skimmed my chest, flicking her tongue at one nipple ring and then the other. I thrust up, grinding between her legs. Bella raised her eyes to mine. I reached down with my left hand to grab my cock, ready to be inside her.

"About last night..."

I exhaled. Mission aborted. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing," she was quick to answer. "That's not what I mean. Just...are you okay? Is that what it's like every time?"

"Basically. Except I do it alone and sometimes I throw up before I can really breathe again."

"Was it..."

The stops and starts were getting on my nerves. "Don't be shy or embarrassed or whatever the fuck else. Just ask. I'll tell you the truth."

"Did I make it worse? By asking you to stay, not letting you handle it your way."

"No, Bella." I pulled her lips to mine and brushed her hair back from her face. "No. Making love to you was the highlight of my fucking year. I'd like to do it again. Often. Now, preferably. I can't promise you it is going to get better anytime soon. The panic attacks," I clarified, "not the sex. I mean, I guess that could get better. I thought it was fuck-awesome. You tell me what you want-"

She put her fingers over my lips and smiled. "Fuck-awesome pretty much covers it. By the way, you're a lot bigger than I remembered."

I squeezed a handful of her ass. "You brilliant girl. Now just tell me you didn't think it would fit and I can die a happy man."

"Nah." She pecked my lips and wiggled her hips on top of me. "I'll save that one for our first fight."

"First?"

She rolled her eyes. "First where make-up sex is an option."

"Technically, I think the first time was make-up sex. You did call me stupidhead, if I remember correctly."

"Huh." Bella kissed along my jaw. I turned toward her, taking her mouth as she mumbled through my efforts. "I guess you're right. I'm pretty sure I forgave you, Punkyfucker, so I guess it worked."

"No, no." I protested against her lips. "You kneed me in the balls. That warranted reparations." I slid my tongue along hers, my left arm snuggly holding her waist.

And just like that, we were cracking jokes about the night that had ruined our lives for five years. Shit. I never imagined a day when such a thing could be possible. Then again, with Bella naked in my arms, nothing else seemed important or so scary.

"Wait a minute." I pulled back. "You called me Punkyfucker." I laughed when it sunk in.

"Sure did."

"I think I like it. I'm keeping it. Maybe I'll get that tattooed on my dick."

"The hell you will," she snapped. Bella tugged on one nipple ring. I went still. That could go very well or very badly real quick. "No names. It's bad luck. You know that."

"Too late."

"What? You didn't. Where?"

She sat back, scanning my torso and arms. I raised my left arm. Hidden in the river of lost souls on the underside, an image Bella had sketched for Sam to ink, was a young goddess holding a dripping heart. Around her waist was a small, simple scroll that read, "όμορφη μου."

"It's Greek for 'My beautiful,'" I told her. "My Bella. I had Sam add it in."

"Edward." She ran her fingers over the image. "I don't know what to say."

"You've always had my heart."

She looked up, biting her lip and failing to hide her sweet smirk. "That's the cheesiest line I've ever heard."

"That? That's what you tell me when I profess my undying love for you? Fuck, Punky. You're killing me."

She laughed, grabbing two fistfuls of my hair and shaking my head. "I love you, dummy."

Our phones rang. We'd been content to stay in bed and put off the inevitable. The inevitable, however, caught up with us all at once. Resigned, Bella and I turned to opposite sides of the bed and reached for the phones.

"Morning, dad."

"Hey, Charlie." Bella moved to get out of bed. I halted her briefly, grabbing her chin to kiss her. She smiled, apparently rolling her eyes to something Charlie said, and then shimmied out from under the covers. I was distracted by watching her bare ass saunter out of my room.

"Edward?"

"Hmm?" I rolled to my back, propping my injured hand above my head on the pillow. It was already starting to itch like a motherfucker.

"I just spoke with Charlie," my father answered in that dry, reserved tone that I knew so well.

"Figured." Their tactic now was to divide and conquer.

"You sound tired. Did I wake you?"

"Not really." I heard my father take a deep breath. I decided to ease us into the topic with something more pleasant to start. "We were just laying in bed."

There was a loaded pause. "I see. Well, I take it the two of you had a constructive conversation."

"Quite," I answered with a smirk.

"Good." Just for shits and giggles, I imagined my father doing a silent fist pump. He wouldn't, but it was funny to picture.

"My hand's in a cast." I brought it down, again scanning Punky's work. It was even better in the daylight. "Boxer's fracture. Forth and fifth transverse necks of the metacarpal bones."

"Charlie gave me a summary of the incident. A friend of his from the campus police department gave him a courtesy call." Another uncomfortable pause. "You fractured his Jaw."

I just about did a fist pump of my own. Almost. "I had to leave, dad. It would have been a lot worse if I stuck around."

"I understand." Another uncomfortable span of silence ensued.

"I'm fine," I stated honestly. "Got it out of my system. Now I just need to know how much trouble I'm facing. Should I turn myself in?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I will contact our lawyers and they'll follow up." I heard a spoon clink against a ceramic cup-tea, not coffee-and another pause as he took a sip. "Tell me what happened."

I figured I had better get used to repeating the story. I did so, filling my dad in on the events of the previous evening.

"He touched you." Carlisle's voice was calm-that violent calm that concealed surging rage. Yes, he understood. At that moment, I suspected my father entertained murder. Only for a split second. "This will go away," he said in a clipped tone. "It happened on campus and quite publicly; there's nothing to be done about that. You'll get a slap on the wrist because the university has to act. But don't worry about this, son. That man wouldn't dare face us in a courtroom. Just do me a favor and keep your nose clean for the next few days."

"I can do that," I confirmed. I was relieved, sure. More than that, I was just so fucking grateful that Carlisle was my father. "Thank you."

"I'll have an attorney contact you Monday morning."

"Dad?"

"And I'm going to find out why Demetri was invited to campus in the first place. You should have told me. You shouldn't have had-"

"Carlisle," I interjected more forcefully. He paused. "I love you. I'm really okay. Bella took good care of me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't. I would have told you, but it just slipped my mind the last time we talked." For obvious reasons. "He'll be sucking his meals through a straw for the foreseeable future. That makes me feel pretty fucking great."

"I love you, son. And, in this particular case, I'm proud of you." I understood his meaning. He was always proud of me. What he meant was, "I don't condone violence, but I would have liked to run the bastard over with my car."

"Thanks."

xXx

Stephen King said writing is telepathy; the power to affect the world around us with our minds. I don't remember what he specifically meant, but that was my interpretation. For the most part, I agreed with him. In my life, I was fortunate enough to have seen the evidence of this theory; from a piano in Copenhagen, from behind a microphone at The Nest. In the locked-up room at the end of a hallway on the other side of the house, I experienced this definition of telepathy.

Telepathy; a superhuman ability accessible by mild-mannered reporters, laboring housewives, great philosophers, degenerate dictators, and the truly righteous among us a alike. One need not be a great man, a prominent woman, to harness the skill. One must only speak the unvarnished truth. Or, lacking that, find the nerve that resonates, sending vibrations that spread wide, and plucking the throbbing thing until numb.

A handful on instances in my life, I thought I held that power. Maybe I was right half as many times. Today, enclosed in my garage, I felt utterly ordinary. Worse than that. I thought I had solved the puzzle, picked the right cup, and correctly navigated the maze. As it was, I felt no closer to clarity. The music wouldn't come and nothing I did altered the stagnation.

Where was my epiphany? Where was the deep breath of unsullied air for which my lungs starved? Why the fuck couldn't I just pen sixteen bars or a single stanza of anything honest and meaningful? I would have accepted cliche, stale shit if at least it was true.

I was stuck, hopelessly embroiled in emptiness.

Stephen King also evangelized against the use of adverbs. Ever. As far as I was concerned, he could happily suck my cock.

I could still hold a pick and strum a guitar. Hooray for small miracles.

xXx

"Damn it, man. What the hell?" Jasper took note of my cast and then leveled an exasperated look my way when I walked into the greenroom at The Nest thirty minutes before our set.

I put my guitar cases in the corner at the end of the couch then took a seat on top of the counter that stretched along the far wall.

"What, you didn't hear?" Emmett pulled out his phone. He swiped his fingers across the screen, taking a seat on the couch next to Jasper. "Shit hit Facebook quick." I had a pretty good idea what was in the video, confirmed by the accompanying background audio. "That was a hell of a shot, dude. Wait, wait." Excited, Em tapped the screen a couple times. "This is my favorite part. Right...here." He stood and brought the phone over. The video was paused at the point of impact, showing Aro's crumpled skin around my fist. "That's one for the highlight reel."

"Don't encourage him," Jasper groused. "Can you even play?"

"I'm good," I confirmed. "I spent a few hours practicing in the garage this afternoon. I'm also a little hopped up on painkillers the ER doctor prescribed."

"Who was that guy?" he asked.

"Someone I never thought I'd see again." I held his gaze, communicating that this was not a topic I wished to discuss further. "He deserved it."

Jasper considered that for a moment. Em's smile fell. He met my eyes with concern and lingered there. In a gesture that was completely unlike the one that had provoked me to violence, Emmett laid his hand on my shoulder. Sometimes I wondered if Emmett had figured it out somewhere along the way. He'd never been accused of being overly insightful when it came to the emotions of others, but there was, from time to time, a certain knowingness in his silence.

"Okay," Jasper responded. The matter was dropped, and because it was Jasper, the topic would never cross his mind again. When he said "okay," it meant the subject was dead and buried.

We spent the next several minutes working out our set list, Jasper and I tuning our instruments, and getting into show mode. Just before we went on, Bella, Alice, and even Rose came back to wish us a good show. I guessed their date had gone well, because Rose and Em were making fuck-me eyes at each other, even as they said very little and touched even less.

Since it appeared that Em was invested in this chick, I resolved to get the dirt from the girls. Bella would give me her honest impression, and it was about time Alice's affinity for meddling in the affairs of others paid out in my favor.

I loved Emmet. In every way that mattered, he was my brother. And while I would knock the teeth out of anyone who claimed he wasn't a full-functioning adult, I had a soft spot for the guy. During high school, most of the female population couldn't see past the awkward kid they'd grown up with. Admittedly, he wasn't so good with the opposite sex back then. By the time we hit college and a whole new crop of women, Emmett had reinvented himself. He didn't keep many girlfriends, but he didn't endure many dry spells, either.

With this one, I knew he was in deep. He had it bad for Rose, investing himself in the prospect of a relationship. I had to know that she was good enough for him. I needed to know she would treat him well and not just use him as a quick fuck or lap dog in waiting the next time her pipes needed tightening or she had a flat tire. If she used him, broke his heart, and tossed him aside, I might torch her fucking car.

Bella wrapped her arms around my back, staring up with a content smile. "How does your hand feel?"

I shrugged. "Not great. Not terrible. I'll manage. We'll see how I feel in the morning. If it's too sore, I won't play rehearsals this week."

"Tanya's out there," she informed me. "She came up to me at the bar."

I had almost completely forgotten about her, Lauren, the whole stupid mess. That pissed me off. "What did she say to you?"

"Nothing. Just hi. It would be weirder if we didn't acknowledge each other, right?"

"I haven't talked to her," I insisted. "I wasn't really planning on it, but I'd be happy to put up the close for business sign."

Punky smirked, which I took as a good sign that she wasn't going to rip off my balls and hang them from her review mirror. "It's fine." Her fingers slid into the waistband of my jeans behind my back. "I'm prepared for the fact that I am going to run into women you've slept with around here. As long as we go home together, I'm not going to throw a fit just because they walk in the door."

I slid my hand up to her neck, combing my fingers through her hair. "I love you," I told her sincerely. "That shit's over. It's just you and me now."

"I know. Don't sweat it." She stretched up to place a light kiss on my lips. That wouldn't nearly cut it.

I captured the nape her her neck in my uninjured hand, the other banding around her back. I kissed her hard, reminding her that she had me completely. I never felt an ounce of real affection for anyone but her. And while it was admirable that she was determined not to let her jealously shine through, I wasn't dumb enough to think it didn't exist at all.

Three loud knocks hit the greenroom door, followed by the sound guy shouting that we had three minutes. I pulled away reluctantly. When I did, I found Bella's eyes a little dazed and her lips swollen. Perfect.

"All yours, sweetheart."

"Come on," Alice said. She grabbed Bella by the wrist and tugged her away. "He can't sing with you attached to his face."

"We'll be right up front," Bella announced as Alice yanked her out of the room. "Don't suck!"

xXx

"What happened to your hand?" Rose asked. I was already sick of answering that question.

The waitress came by with our first round of drinks following the show. Seeing as how I was already on painkillers and someone had to drive home, I stuck to soda. We sat around our usual table, thankfully buffered from the capacity crowd crammed into the bar.

"She beats me," I answered, nodding at Punky sitting across my lap. "Threw me down the stairs."

"I told you," Bella snapped as she took a sip from her beer. "No wire hangers!"

Rose rolled her eyes, unamused with our antics. "Whatever." Emmett didn't offer to play the video again, for which I was grateful.

"Just tell people it was something cool," Alice said. "Like a skydiving accident."

"How is breaking your hand because you willingly flung yourself out of an aircraft a cool story?" Rose argued. "Congratulations, dumbass. Gravity works."

"I take it you're not the thrill-seeking type? Afraid of heights?" Emmett leaned toward her, she cut him with a glare.

"I prefer my thrills on the ground, thanks. And no, it's not height that turns me off. It's the long fall and abrupt confrontation with the ground at the end."

"She's got a point," Jasper said. "Some of my favorite adventures happen only a couple feet off the ground."

"You bet your ass," Alice agreed with a proud grin. "How long will you be in the cast?" She looked down at my hand resting on the table. "Pretty, by the way."

"Eight weeks, maybe. Depends on how fast it heels."

"That's cutting it close." She stared up at the ceiling, thinking hard on something. "Heal quickly. I need to schedule the shoot before Thanksgiving."

"Back up there, Tiny Tim. What shoot?"

"For my portfolio," she sighed like I was an idiot for asking. "You're modeling for my final project."

Emmett laughed. "You leaving me to be a cover boy?"

"Not quite," I replied. "I don't remember agreeing to that."

"Bella said yes." Alice sat back in her chair, twirling her long pendant necklace between her fingers. "I thought we'd make it a duo. You two are very photogenic together," she said with a teasing hint to her voice.

I raised an interested eyebrow at Punky. She shrugged, running her nails through the stubble on my jaw.

"Who's going to see these pictures?" I asked of the grinning girl across the table. "Because I don't want them plastered all over Facebook and shit."

"The look book is my final semester project for photography class. Beyond that, we can negotiate the model release."

"Negotiate?"

"Well, yeah," she replied. "If the shots turn out well, I fully intend to publicize them. We can come to terms, I'm sure. I'll give you right of approval on which ones are released."

"Come on," Bella urged me. "It could be fun. And I'd like to have a few nice pictures of us, you know?"

Well damn. How was I supposed to say no to that? Punky and I hadn't been captured on film together in a long time. With the exception of the picture that Alice better have deleted.

"Fine. You two work it out. Just tell me where and when."

"Perfect," Alice exclaimed. "You'll love it. Trust me."

"Bella?" Rose looked over my shoulder with a concerned expression. "Don't you know that guy?" She nodded toward the bar.

"Who?" We both turned to look. "Oh, Jake? Yeah." He stood with a few guys, a couple of whom I recognized from the beach. She looked back to Rose. "Why?"

"What's he doing with a drug dealer?" Rose asked in a accusatory tone. That got everyone's attention.

"Who's a drug dealer?" Alice questioned. We all took another look.

"James. The blonde guy," Rose responded.

"Why are you on a first-name basis with a drug dealer?" Emmett turned the question back on her.

"I'm in recovery." Rose showed no emotion in stating the fact. Emmett stared at her. "I'm eighteen months sober and attend meeting twice a week."

Well, so much for digging up the dirt. She'd just shoveled a pile of it in our laps.

"For how long?" Alice asked first.

"Senior year of high school." Rose sat back, elaborating without pretense. "Both of my parents went to Ivy League schools. They expected the same from me. Along the way, I just got overwhelmed with the workload and pressure, so I started taking uppers to stay awake and study. It didn't matter. I cracked, all but flunked finals, and was lucky to graduate. State was the only school to accept me. By then, I was dependent on the pills just to get through the day."

"What changed?" Jasper inquired.

"I overdosed. My roommate found me in a puddle of my own vomit. Having my stomach pumped was my wakeup call. I spent twelve weeks in rehab and haven't spoken to my parents since. They completely cut me off."

"Babe," Emmett sighed. He pulled her to his shoulder. She resisted at first, but let him put his arm around her. Em whispered something in her ear which seemed to soften her reluctance.

"I'm proud of you," Bella said. "I don't know if that's a condescending this to say. Still, kicking an addiction takes a shit-ton of courage."

Bella knew something about that. I squeezed my arms around her. Her ritual was a compulsion, no different than a substance addiction. She needed it. She felt unable to function without it. Bella hated that she couldn't kick the habit, but felt she had no choice but to feed it. The fear of living without her ritual was too terrifying to consider.

"Thanks," Rose nodded with a warm smile. "I appreciate that." It was the first genuine show of emotion I'd witnessed from her.

"And James was your supplier once you started college?" I had to ask the question. Not to be insensitive, but Rose had brought it up and now I was also interested in why he and Jacob looked so chummy, still talking at the bar.

"Yeah," she nodded. "My dorm roommate freshman year pledged a sorority. I went to a couple parties with her. He was always there, though I'm pretty sure he's not a student."

"Come to think of it," Jasper added, "I recognize him. He's in here often."

"What do you know about this?" I asked Bella. Her eyebrows rose with an offended expression.

"No way," she insisted. "Jake doesn't have a drug problem. I'd know."

"Are you sure?" It wasn't an accusation or an insistence of his guilt, just honest concern.

"I'd know," she reiterated. "Trust me."

I did trust her. It was Jacob I wasn't so sure about.

xXx

"You ready to go soon?" Bella had a pretty good buzz on and Emmett had already left to take Rose home. I was eager to get my girl in bed.

"Sure," Bella agreed. She draped her arms over my shoulders, taking my ear lobe between her teeth. "I never did get to tell you about my dream."

Goddamn. "Save that thought, sweetheart." I gave her ass a squeeze as I lifted her to place on her the chair next to me. "I'm going to hit the head and then we can go."

"Hurry," she commanded with with wink.

I got up, heading to the bathrooms at the back of the bar, doing my best to move through the crowd untouched. The place would be full until they started kicking people out at two.

In the hallway, a hand wrapped around my forearm. "There you are."

I turned to find Tanya all dolled up in her tempting best. I tugged my arm free. "I wasn't hiding."

"No, you weren't." She glanced over her shoulder, though we were obstructed from the crowd. "You and your roommate?"

"That's right," I answered.

"Won't that get a little messy?" She pressed her back up against the wall, a flirtatious smirk on her glossy lips.

"Things are different now. I'm done with the hook-ups."

"Really?" She eyed me like a predator who found amusement in my discomfort. "I find that hard to believe."

"I could give a shit. We fucked, Tanya. Don't confuse that for knowing anything about me."

Her expression fell for a moment. Just as quickly, she recovered her unruffled demeanor. "I know you enough. I know what you like. Do you really think someone like that is going to be enough?"

"Someone like what?" I stopped, running a hand through my hair. "You know what? Forget it. I don't care." I turned to walk away, but she grabbed me by the waistband and pulled me back. "Don't," I warned her.

"We're the same, Edward. That's why we have fun together. Is she going to let you spank her, pull her hair, grab her by the throat when-"

"Enough," I snarled. "You're not the end all, be all of fucks. Get over it. I love her. Period."

"You can tell yourself that, but we both know you bore easy."

"Maybe we've been fucking the wrong people." I stalked off. If I didn't need to take a leak so damn bad, I would have grabbed Bella and gotten the right out of there.

As I was washing my hands, Jacob walked into the bathroom. Our eyes met in the mirror while he passed toward a urinals. There were a dozen reasons to let this go. I could just walk away now. A warm bed and a horny woman were waiting for me. Damn it.

Jacob finished and came to the sink beside me. I was now in the awkward position of having obviously waited for the man to have finished pissing. Not a great start.

"Hey," I greeted him. Still fucking awkward.

He Nodded once. The stupid grin I hated was absent. I guess we were done pretending to be nice. Well, he had tried and I had all but spit in his face. A few hours ago, I might have felt bad about that.

"Listen. I'm not sorry about that shit at the hospital," I announced. He pulled down a few paper towels, drying his hands and only looking at my reflection. "I really don't give a shit if a UFO landed in the middle of the road or you swerved to avoid a group of disabled nuns carrying baskets of puppies. She could have been seriously hurt or worse. What happened to me after that wouldn't mean shit."

"I get it." He turned toward me with an implacable expression. "We done?"

"What's your business with James?"

He didn't flinch or twitch a muscle.

"I know exactly what he's into. If I find out you're hanging around Bella with that shit-if you crashed because you were fucked up-I swear on my life it will be the last mistake you ever make."

Jacob didn't say a word. I couldn't tell if he was out of it or just bored. He looked me right in the eyes, he seemed steady enough, but it was like I had no effect on him. And then he walked out. Just like that. I was at a loss without a satisfying answer.


	30. Chapter 30

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Chapter 30: Broken Glass**

**"...you overestimate to what extent I gave a fuck."**

"Were you bothered by that?" Not-doctor Reid sat in the black office chair that looked more fashion-forward than comfortable.

I'd had it with the stiff upholstered chair and now made my home on the small sofa. I wondered if that was the plot. Adorn the room with lumbar-killing chairs and eventually the reluctant client would be forced to submit to the cliché of the couch. Fuck that. I'd stand for the hour-long sessions before lying down.

"Which part?" My eyes drifted from my notebook to my cast, perusing the details of Bella's painting.

"Tanya's suggestion that you couldn't have a fulfilling sexual relationship with Bella."

"No."

I pulled a plastic knife from my pocket and shoved it inside the cast, attacking the infernal itch on the underside of my wrist that wouldn't go away. There was something comedic or ironic about that, considering my surroundings, but I decided not to speak it aloud. Not-doctor Reid was silent too long. I glanced up, reading her patient expression that called bullshit.

"Fine. Sure. Yes. It's crock of shit, so it doesn't matter. We have great sex."

"How would you describe your relationship with Tanya to that point?"

"Nonexistent."

"You carried on a sexual relationship," she insisted.

"We fucked," I corrected. "That does not a relationship make. There was no relating. There was penetration and as few words as possible."

"But she was the only one you had sex with multiple times, correct?"

"What's your point?" I leaned back, rubbing my good hand through my hair. "Let's clear something up: I hate these leading questions when it feels like you have a particular answer you're trying to pull out of me. Just ask the question outright. We'll get along a lot better that way and our time will be far more productive."

"Okay, Edward. Why, if there was nothing special about Tanya, was she the only one you fucked repeatedly?"

"Because she was zero maintenance. No hassles."

"And not because she fulfilled your need to engage in rough play?"

Sitting forward, I leveled my eyes with the short, curvy woman. I guessed her to be in her early thirties. She had that sort of wavy black hair that suggested she straightened her naturally curly hair, but as the day progressed, it insisted on returning to its former shape. She had olive skin and facial features that pointed to Central American heritage. Overall, I found her attractive.

Reid had explained during our getting-to-know-you period that her area of study was modern sexuality; curious considering that it was my anger issues that landed me here. Thus far, our sessions had concentrated more on my exploits between the sheets than the many misdeeds of my fists.

"There are two assumptions in that question," I replied. "First, what's rough? That's a matter of degrees. Spanking. Wrapping a ponytail around my wrist and tugging while I take her from behind. Squeezing her tits almost hard enough to leave bruises or slapping her clit because the shock of force sets her off like a fucking rocket all over my dick. Those things are tame depending on whom you ask. Some people get off on nipple clamps and crops. Some women actually like getting backhanded while they're taking it up the ass. Whatever it does it for them.

"Second, what do I need? The vast majority of my orgasms have resulted from the stimulation of my own hand, the exceptions being Bella and a blowjob at a bar. Even a warm, wet hole isn't a need. So, to answer your question: No, Tanya did not fulfill a particular need for me that could not have been satisfied by anyone else."

"Then why do it at all?" Reid set her iPad aside, signaling we weren't close to a conclusion on this topic. "Was it only to appease your partner?"

"You overestimate my desire to please them. For that matter, you overestimate to what extent I gave a fuck. They were objects, a means to an end."

"You cared enough to bring them to climax."

There was no smart answer for that. Or maybe there was. "I wanted to be good at it. That's entirely selfish and vain."

"Was it enjoyable? Fun?"

"Sex isn't fun." For some people, sure. Not me.

Reid appeared surprised by this admission. Indeed, so was I. "Not even with Bella?"

"No. Making love to her is a lot of things; I wouldn't call it fun. Foreplay is fun. Flirting is fun. Teasing and getting her worked up; those moments fall into the fun category."

"Then I return to my previous question: Why do it at all?"

I considered that for a moment, and then I thought on it a while longer.

Enduring childhood in a series of overstuffed foster homes taught me something about the nature of want versus need. We fought for toys, we fought for beds, we fought for food, and we fought for enough personal space to breathe. At five years old, the requirement wasn't much, and yet we still struggled to claim enough. The only battle I had never waged and had no interest in winning was the one for attention. Of that, my coffers had overflowed. What a lucky little bastard I was.

After my first consensual sexual experience with Bella, I was terrified of sex. I didn't want to have it. For a brief time, I thought maybe I never would again. In theory, I wanted to be balls deep in a girl. That fantasy centered around Bella most often. The reality was far less appealing. I guess that's one reason why it took so long for Bella and I to find our way back to each other.

Imagine being a male in his late teens to early twenties. While the hormones went on about their business without any care for emotional sensitivity, I was this paralyzed person unable to act on the most natural instinct. My friends were getting laid. The girl I loved had scratched the itch. I shot loads of frustrated desire down the shower drain. All the while, I was a closeted freak walking among the normals and doing my best to hide the scar I carried. Sometimes it felt like a scarlet letter or yellow star on my chest: obvious, blatant.

Along the way, the want for theoretical sex turned into a need to break down the barrier of fear. I wanted to get past the psychological hurdle because I needed to feel whole again. I fucking required the proof that I held absolute command over my body. And perhaps that was why I turned sex into a show of dominance with the random women I took to bed. I didn't care what they thought of me after the fact. I never hurt them or forced them further than they were willing to go, nor was I ashamed to bare the darker parts of myself when I didn't have to look them in the eyes. I merely let the memories walk right out the door with them the next morning.

My answer to her question was less thoughtful. "Because I felt like it."

Reid took the cue, letting me off the hook for now. "The confrontation with Tanya followed you home that night," she stated. "Did you discuss it with Bella?"

"No. I ignored it." But that wasn't true; I knew it and so did the counselor sitting across the room from me.

xXx

"Damn, sweetheart." I groaned, mumbling against Bella's lips as she grabbed a handful of my cock through my jeans. She shoved me up against the front door after it slammed behind us. "Don't you want to lock up first?"

The drive home had been long and difficult as I processed the evening after our gig and Bella did her best to distract me from getting us home in one piece.

She squeezed my sac, just on the narrow line between unbearable pain and fantastic pleasure. "If you don't get in the game, I'm going to start without you."

Shit. She tasted of pineapple and coconut rum, her skin warm and salty. Punky dragged her teeth over my bottom lip and tugged sharply; that was about all I could endure. I hoisted her off the ground and moved to pin her against the opposite wall. Bella wrapped her legs around my hips, using her thighs as leverage as she ground herself on my cock.

Kissing her, I was completely in the moment. My cast-wrapped hand held her ass while my left grabbed a handful of her tit. I was nowhere else but in the moment with the more-than-tipsy and writhing girl in my arms. That was the honest truth, except for the tiny part of my head that was stuck picking apart Tanya's words.

I didn't give a fuck about her misguided appraisal of Bella and I. The hell did she know? Riding my dick didn't give her some profound insight into my psyche. Nevertheless, the petty, insecure part of me found it imperative that I prove her wrong, even if she wouldn't see the evidence.

Pulling Bella from the wall, I carried her to the living room and sat on the couch with her straddling my lap. First, she was relieved of her shirt and bra. Right away, her hands roamed up my chest to my nipple piercings, where she rolled and flicked them between her fingers. Fucking hell, this woman knew how to touch. My shirt followed hers to the floor. Though I was enjoying her attention, I had to grab her wrists to restrain her hands behind her back so I could remove the obstacle between my lips and her tits.

"Shit," she hissed as I flicked my tongue over one tight peak.

I looked up, my lips still wrapped around her nipple, sucking hard. No way I was willing to release her for the sake of asking the question.

"You're tongue piercing," she answered to my inquisitive glance. "It's—"

I did it again, flicking the ball on the end of the barbell back and forth. She jerked, trying to free her hands though I held fast. She didn't say any more on the topic, and so I continued to tease, bite, and suck on each nipple in turn until Bella begged me to stop.

"I want you," she demanded. "Now."

"I want your mouth." I spoke without reserve or forethought. Bella stared at me longer than was comfortable in this context. "Or not," I offered instead. Really, it wasn't a deal-breaker.

She blinked. A slow smile crossed her lips. Fuck, those lips and the many lewd ways I wanted to use them. "No, I like the idea," she answered after what was perhaps the longest silence to follow a request—okay, I hadn't asked—for head in the history of fellatio. "I'm not morally opposed to it or anything."

I had to laugh. For one, I was relieved this wasn't a hard limit for her. Some chicks didn't like giving head and that was fine. A tiny part of me might have died if she'd said it was a no-go.

"Morally opposed," I repeated as I wrapped my mind around the concept. "Interesting."

"That's a thing," she insisted.

"I'll take your word for it." Not like I was going to argue with her now. I needed her cooperation, and I really wanted to get back to the part where she liked this idea.

"It's just that…" Her eyes dropped from mine. I released her arms, her fingers wandering over my shoulders. I gave her that, not pushing too hard if she felt the need to retreat a little. "I haven't before."

"Good." What other answer was there?

She looked up and rolled her eyes. "You're such a guy."

"That can't be helped." Yeah, it was a shitty double standard to want to claim the territory first or beat the living shit out of anyone who had gotten there before me. So what?

Bella smirked. Her fingers traveled up and down my spine just at the base of my neck. I was damn near shivering. "Is there a trick to it?"

"Just like a popsicle." I stopped. Bella's smirk grew more menacing. "Forget that. You chew your popsicles. Do not bite it off," I scolded her.

Her answering pout was both adorable and frightening. "Just a little nibble?"

I pinched her side. She flicked my ear. Why had I started that again? "You have no levels between gentle and vicious—your elevator only stops at 1 and 100. No, sweetheart. You can't be trusted with teeth."

"You're no fun."

"And you're convincing me that I don't want my dick sucked."

She glared, perhaps taking my words as a challenge. I'd let her convince me otherwise. "Well," Bella straightened her spine, "what do you like?"

"There's no such thing as a bad blowjob. Suck and use lots of tongue."

Okay, I had heard plenty of tales of poor performances. Short of throwing up while going down on a guy, how bad could those experiences have been? Something about a woman swallowing my cock just struck me as a fucking miracle every time it happened. Divine goddamn intervention.

"So..." Bella's eyes roamed. "What, like now?"

"Do I need to make an appointment?"

"That would be handy. Gives me time to prepare."

"Prepare? Fuck, Punky. You know what? For get I mentioned it." I moved to lift her off me.

"No, no." She pushed my shoulders back to the couch, insisting I stay put. "Now's good. I don't have plans. Well, I do, but I figure the one naturally leads to the other, so this is good."

"This is more than stupid. And you're drunk. I think you might be killing my wood." No she wasn't.

"Is that like reverse psychology? 'Don't suck my dick.' And then I'm all like, 'No, I'm going to blow you and you're going to sit there and love it.'"

"Okay, seriously. This is the dumbest conversation I've ever had."

"No way," the crazy girl in my lap argued. "I get way dumber."

"Damn, woman. I swear I'm not baiting you. Stop turning everything into a fight."

"So does that mean you want me to argue?" Bella huffed, tossing her hair over her bare shoulder. "Honestly, Edward. I can't keep up with deciphering all of your mixed signals."

That was quite enough. Overpowering her, I laid Bella over my lap and ripped her jeans and underwear down her ass in one swift movement. Her shoulders were flat to the leather couch with her back bowed to present her backside in the air. Her beautiful, pale flesh looked so inviting. "Punky, shut the fuck up."

"Hey. That's not—" I bit her ass cheek. Hard. She yelped but didn't try to escape.

Holding her in place with one arm over her lower back, I reached down to free my cock from my jeans. I exhaled roughly, the pressure finally relieved and yet not nearly gone. My dick lay against my abdomen. I tugged Punky into place, finding contact with her bare skin.

"Now," I said as I traced the impression of my teeth in her soft flesh, "you're going to stop bickering and stay still. If you don't, I'm going to bite you again." Bella turned her face to look at me. That was my new favorite expression ever. She appeared at once aroused and nervous, anxious and excited. "And you know how much I've wanted to do this, so go ahead and assume I won't be lenient."

Bella didn't say a word. She blinked, which I took as assent. Since my right hand was basically useless when it came to touching her in a pleasurable way, I used my left to slide two fingers through her slit. She was wet, her muscles pulsing as she clenched with need.

"You're so ready for me," I commented. One finger brushed over her clit and her entire body seized with anticipation. "You have such a hot, tight little cunt, sweetheart." I worked my fingers back and forth, massaging her. "It's so hard to last when I'm inside you. You feel too fucking good."

Bella whimpered. I glanced at her, seeing that she had her bottom lip firmly embedded between her teeth and her eyes fixed to mine.

"Is that what you want?" I rubbed her pussy, increasing the pressure against her clit just a bit on each pass. "My cock prying you open, stretching you, sliding deeper until you can't fucking take it any more?"

She muffled a moan and pushed back against my hand. "Mmm," I hummed. "Good girl." For just that tiny infraction, I leaned forward and dragged my teeth over her delicate flesh. I didn't bite hard, just a little tug. My dick twitched and I reached down to rub myself against her thigh. I was throbbing and so goddamn hard that I was in danger of passing the fuck out for lack of blood to my brain.

Bella's back rose and fell on her deep, heavy breaths. I liked her this way: riled, needy, longing for my touch to get her off. No sense torturing her. I needed to get insider her soon. Palming her ass and plumping her flesh, I then moved my fingers back to her creamy cunt. Her scent filled the air around us, driving me near to the point of madness.

I slid my fingers through her pussy, taking only a brief moment to lift them to my mouth and taste her. "You taste so goddamn good," I praised as I returned to my ministrations. After rimming her opening with one digit, I pressed the single finger inside. She arched, impaling herself deeper. Couldn't exactly punish her for that.

In and out, I opened her with one and then a second finger. She was so snug, her walls closing on my and drawing on me in a rhythmic motion. I was gentle at first, priming her. But my intention wasn't tenderness. No, I wanted to see her leave claw marks in the leather. I wanted my girl panting, screaming, and taking my hand so hard she wouldn't be able to cross her legs for a week.

With my right arm holding her still over the lower back, I plunged two fingers to the last knuckle with increasing severity. The harder I pumped, the more she tried to push back, fucking herself against my fist. I watched, enthralled by the sight of her ass bouncing across my lap, her thigh nudging at my stiff cock. Fuck, I couldn't help myself; I bit down on her ass again, growling when her pussy clamped down.

"Come on my fingers," I demanded. "Come for me and I'll fuck you senseless, sweetheart."

"More," begged. "Damn it, Edward. More."

I met her frantic, lust-filled eyes. At her command, I shoved a third finger into her swollen cut and pounded into her with more force than I would have offered without her insistence. She moaned in this deep, anguished sound that I would never forget as long as I lived. It was the hottest damn noise I'd ever heard.

"Faster," she whimpered. "Shit, yes. I'm gonna come. Please. So close."

Overcome, I drilled into her as fast as my arm would move, throwing my shoulder into it on every thrust. It took every fucking ounce of awareness I had left not to smack her ass with my cast-wrapped hand. A little pain was good; that would have been the wrong kind of painful for both of us.

"Oh. Fuck. Yes. Edward." From there her voice lost coherency. Her pussy clamped down and entire body bowed as a violent orgasm rocked through her.

I held her as she writhed, drawing out the sensation by rocking back on my fingers. Pulling out, her wetness dripped down my hand and the inside of her thigh. I needed to get my mouth on her, just long enough to savor my reward before I dove home. Sliding her forward down the couch, I moved to get behind her.

"Lie down," she told me. Her hair was stuck to her face, a trickle of sweat down her spine, and her cheeks flushed red. "Lie down," she said again.

The god of blowjobs did exist and I saw her in that moment. I was her faithful fucking disciple.

I shifted around to rest lengthwise with my head toward one end of the couch. Bella moved toward me until I caught her hips and positioned her drenched pussy right over my face. I didn't say a word or move a muscle as she pulled my jeans and boxers down to fully expose my cock. She took it in one hand, stroking me. I held my breath until her tongue flicked out to lick one end of the barbell through the head of my dick.

"Fuck, sweetheart. Just like that." I squeezed her ass, encouraging her.

She repeated the action twice more then licked across the tip, dipping the end of her tongue along the slit. My hips bucked of their own accord. My cock knew where it wanted to be, but I told myself to hold back and let her get comfortable. Like a fucking pro born to give me head, Bella ran her tongue over the crown, along my piercing, and up the length of my dick from root to tip, tracing the thick vein.

Without hesitation, she softly sucked the head, pumping me in her fist. Little by little, she took me deeper. It was at that point that I realized I was just staring at her waiting cunt. I pulled her down to my mouth, licking through her slit and gathering the result of her orgasm. Both hands held firm to her firm ass. She began to move against my face in time with her mouth around my dick.

Bella tasted too good, her mouth worked me over too well; I couldn't help but lift my hips as her lips took me in, gradually shoving deeper down her throat. She kept one hand firm around the base, pumping what she couldn't take. I ate at her pussy like a starving man, a man addicted, singularly possessed by her taste.

Gasping for air, her pulled her mouth off me to lick the head and toy with the piercing. "You feel amazing," I told her while mumbling between her thighs. She tried to lift off me. I held her tighter. "So good."

I had my first mild heart attacked when Bella lightly dragged her teeth over the head of my cock and then rubbed it against her cheek. I was so done for. She owned me. I was her eager man-slave. I was also about to come all over her face if she didn't cut that out.

"Scoot down, sweetheart." I gave her ass a little tap. "You're too good at this. I might have a damn stroke, so let me fuck you one last time before I die."

Bella crawled down the couch. I tugged her pants free of her legs and she pulled mine from my legs. I sat her atop me, facing away, and gripped my cock in my left hand as I dragged the head through her swollen lips.

"Take me," I urged her. I held myself in place and guided her down with my other hand. She slid down, engulfing me in liquid heat and silky softness. "That's it," I encouraged as she took me to the hilt. Fuck, I was so much deeper this way. She was still so damn tight, already squeezing my dick as she adjusted. "It's all you. Fuck me. Ride my cock, sweetheart."

I held her hips while she experimentally rose up and descended again—slow at first, rocking back and forth, and finding all the places I could touch buried inside her. I watched, enraptured, as her ass bounced on my cock. Content to let Bella do as she pleased, I relaxed and enjoyed, occasionally gripping her round bottom to see my handprints emerge and fade.

"Edward," she whimpered. Bella's pace increased. She dropped down on my dick with greater force, impaling herself in earnest.

"What do you need?"

"You," she panted. "More. Please."

I sat up just enough to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her backward to rest against my chest. "Bend your knees," I instructed. "Spread your legs." I draped my right arm over her abdomen, my other across her chest to grip her shoulder. "Anything," I whispered against her ear, licking at her neck. "Everything I am, Bella."

I thrust up, filling her on one strong motion. She moaned, writhing. Her hands fumbled to find somewhere to go, eventually coming up above our heads to grab the edge of the armrest. I pumped into her with every ounce of energy I had left. My hand over her stomach moved lower, rubbing her clit as her deep moans turned to desperate cries. I was brutal, possessed with making her come so hard it would be nearly painful for both of us.

"Come on dick," I growled at her ear. "I want to feel your cunt drench me, sweetheart." Before I realized what I had done, my hand was around her throat. I thrust harder, bouncing us both off the leather now sticking to my sweaty back.

"Harder," she begged. "Fuck. Yes." Her hands came down to grip her tits, pinching and tugging at her nipples.

Feeling her muscles pulse around me, I pinched her clit and slapped the sensitive button as I thrust deep and held there, embedded fully. She tensed, her body seized by spasms, and my name pouring from her lips. Bella jerked in my arms. I clutched her tighter while her cunt milked me.

"I'm coming," I mumbled, bracing myself for the pleasure and the terrible side effects.

My face buried in her hair, I clenched my eyes shut and held my breath against the visions that assaulted me. Still pumping in short strokes, my body disconnected from my mind, I spilled long and hard inside her while trying to force the sickness away. I still flinched when her hands came up to cradle my face. Too warm and freezing at once, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin and into hers.

The attack lasted seconds; that's all. Long, wonderful minutes of fantastic pleasure and I couldn't make it a few seconds more to enjoy the conclusion without paralyzing nausea. I wanted to throw up. I really needed to. I swallowed over and over again in an attempt to stay the reflex. No matter what else happened, I wouldn't destroy Bella and the gift she gave me by letting her see me empty my stomach every time we made love. That was too much to ask that she endure.

xXx

Later, when I read over the transcribed description of that encounter, I decided a few edits were in order. Ripping the pages from my notebook, I replaced them with a simplified explanation: "We made love. I had a panic attack."

"Will you consider that by now you've conditioned yourself to expect the panic attacks," Reid asked, "and so they come bidden by your anxiety?"

I looked up, surveying her with a mild interest. "I'll consider it."

xXx

I woke in Bella's bed, the room dark, with that strange uncertainty if it had been a dream or reality that jolted me from sleep. Reaching over, my hand fell to any empty pillow. Her side of the bed was cold. I rubbed my eyes, looking toward the bathroom. Not there.

Sliding out of bed, I grabbed my boxers from the floor and slipped them on before walking out. I peeked into my room, but it was empty. She'd probably just gotten hungry and went down for a snack. That notion was confirmed when I heard muffled noise from downstairs. Just as my foot hit the first step on the staircase, I heard the shattering sound of glass breaking on the hardwood floor.

On instinct, I darted into my room, pulled out the lockbox from my nightstand, and pushed the loaded clip into my Beretta. Hugging the wall, I descended the stairs. Streams of white poured into the foyer from the security lights at the front of the house, the backside likewise illuminated from the rear lights.

In front of the sliding glass doors that led to the back porch, I found Bella dressed in my TOOL sweater, sitting in a constellation of broken glass, and rocking back and forth. I clicked the safety on and lowered my gun, hiding it behind my back.

"Bella?" I approached her from the landing at the base of the stairs, taking several tentative strides to reach her. "What's wrong?" I stopped, backing up to slide on a pair of shoes and grab her sandals from the foyer. "Punky? It's me."

She didn't acknowledge me, staring out the glass into the yard. Close enough now, I recognized the blue shards of glass of a vase that had once sat on the end table by the couch. Not a single knickknack of my mother's had ever been moved or rearranged in the house since her death. I forced myself not to react to the broken memento.

"Sweetheart." When my shoe crunched on the glass, Bella's head jerked up. I placed my hand on her shoulder and she tensed, flinching away. "What's wrong?"

"I did it wrong," she replied in a tired voice. "I can't fix it. I can't finish and I can't go back." In a sudden fit, her fist launched at the wall. She didn't react to the pain, sitting otherwise motionless. That explained the vase. "I'm stuck."

"How long have you been sitting here?" I crouched down, rubbing one hand up and down her arm.

"I don't know." Her voice broke. I felt her swallow. "I can't fix it," she repeated with irritation.

"Let me help." I set the gun down to wrap my arms around her. The second it hit the floor, Bella's attention snapped to the object. She jerked away. "It's okay. It's okay," I insisted as she tried to get away. I slid the gun across the floor until it disappeared into the kitchen. "You're safe, Bella." I shifted to meet her eyes, holding her face between my hands. "Do you understand? You're perfectly safe. I watched you, like I always watch. You know I wouldn't let you miss anything, right? All the doors are locked, the windows tight, and the alarm is set. It's just us, sweetheart. I promise."

"I have to check the rest," she insisted in a panicked voice, "but I can't move. Something's wrong with this one. I can't—something's different."

"What is it?"

"I don't know," she shouted. The sudden outburst cut through the room and echoed off the walls of the empty house. "I don't know why this lock feels different. I don't know why it woke me up. I don't know why I have to sit here and stare at it but can't just check it and move on. I don't fucking know!"

"It's okay, Bella. I'll help. We'll start again. I'll stay with you the whole time, okay?"

"No," she snapped. "This one is different. I can't—you don't understand. I know what every lock in this house sounds like, feels like when it clicks. This one," she enunciated, pointing with one rigid finger, "is not the same."

"I believe you," I answered. "Okay? Tell me what to do to fix it."

"I. Don't. Know." She aimed for the wall again, but this time I caught her wrist to stop her. One broken hand in this house was enough.

At a loss for better options, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for war. Swiftly, giving her no chance to fight me off, I hoisted Bella into my arms. She struggled, kicking and yelling at me to put her down. She fought me violently, but I suffered through it until I got up the stairs and dumped her on her bed. She ran for the door, but I forced her out of the way to lock it, throwing all my weight up against it to keep her here.

"What are you doing?" She yelled.

"I needed my phone and I wasn't going to leave you alone." We stood inches apart. Her chest heaved with frantic breaths. I knew I was torturing her, but it couldn't be helped. "Hand me the phone."

"Get it yourself," she snapped.

"Damn it, Bella. Fucking give me the damn phone. I'm not letting you out this door."

She growled, huffed, stomped, and finally chucked my phone at my head. I caught it in my right hand and winced at the pain. She had quite an arm on her. Scrolling down my contact list, I made the call. It rang five times.

"Dude, what the hell?" It was four in the morning after a gig. Emmett was not pleased to hear from me.

"I need your help. Are you sober?" He'd left the bar earlier than the rest of us, so I had hope.

"Yeah," he answered. I heard movement as he coughed. "What's up?"

"I need a new lock for the sliding glass door. Can you go to Wal-Mart and bring it over? I'll pay you back."

"What happened? Where are you?"

"Home. I'd go myself but I can't leave Bella here and I can't take her out. We're fine, but this needs to be done now."

"Yeah, okay. Whatever you need. I'll see you in like an hour and a half."

"Thank you," I answered with relief. "I owe you big."

"No you don't." He hung up.

Bella sat silent on her bed, legs curled up to her chest.

"Will this make it better? You can watch us install it and test it out and everything. Is this is okay?"

Out of an abundance of caution, I texted Emmett: Get every kind of lock they have.

I looked back to Bella, hoping I hadn't dragged Em out of bed for no reason. She just stared at me.

"Sweetheart." I approached with caution. It was a very real possibility that she'd slug me or kick me in the nuts. "I'll stay right here and wait with you. I'll do anything you want. But I'm not letting you go back down there and drive yourself crazy." I waited, searching for any indication that I was doing something right or making a huge mistake. "Bella?"

"Play for me," she whispered. "Anything. Just sit here and play for me."

"As you wish," I answered with a wink. "Can I trust you if I grab my guitar from my room?"

She nodded, biting her lip. Because I wasn't entirely convinced, I ran between rooms and returned in record time, closing the door behind me. Bella sat back against the headboard, pulling the covers over her legs. I sat facing her, one foot on the floor as I pulled the pick from the first fret and began to strum an acoustic version of the first song I'd written for her. Bella closed her eyes, her fists clenched in her lap so hard her knuckles were white.


	31. Chapter 31

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N:** The Debt is up on The Lemonade Stand's Fic of the Week poll. Go vote!

**On Rare Purity:** The PDF is available on my Blogspot. You can find the link my user profile. I've received a ton of questions via Twitter, PM, reviews, etc. I'm trying my best to get to each one, so please be patient with me.

As you can imagine, my mood has been shit this week. If this chapter falls short of expectations, I'm sorry. I'll try to hoist myself out of this funk and get back to being awesome next week. ;-)

As always, your reviews and kind encouragement really do inspire me. Thank you so much for your support.

* * *

**Chapter 31: Lipstick libel**

**"So I lied."**

I had just slipped back into bed when Bella stirred. Like a cat, she coiled up in a little ball around me then stretched the length of the bed. She looked up through red, tired eyes. "What time is it?"

"A little after seven," I answered. "You fell asleep and I didn't want to wake you." I brushed her hair back from her face, letting my fingers slide down her neck. "The new lock is on," I told her. "The old one was rusted out. Some little pin in the latching mechanism broke and lodged in there."

"It's fine," she mumbled. She lay her head down again, closing her eyes as her hand skimmed across my chest. "Thank you."

"Of course, sweetheart." I brushed my fingers through her hair, content that the stress had passed.

"I don't want to do this anymore."

"Don't make vague statements that scare the shit out of me this early in the morning."

"Sorry." She draped her leg over my hip. Her fingers stroked down my abdomen and back again. "I don't want to do my thing anymore," she clarified.

Bella hated the word "ritual." It rubbed her the wrong way. She thought it sounded cultish, which was one of her irrational fears brought on by some horror movie we'd watched as kids. And so it was always "my thing" or "the thing" or whatever.

"I don't want you to let me do it."

That wasn't a fuckload of responsibility or anything. "Okay." I didn't know what else to say.

"I mean it," Bella insisted.

"I believe you."

"You're not going to say anything?"

"What should I say?"

"I think this is a pretty big deal. Don't you want to ask why or…something?"

"Okay," I agreed to appease her. I didn't want to upset her again. "Why?"

"Forget it," she huffed. Bella rolled over, turning away from me. Oh, fuck that.

"Hey." I grabbed her shoulder and forced her to look at me. "I'm right here. I'm listening. Tell me what's on your mind."

Her expression softened, but not as much as I would have liked. She'd woken up in a bad mood. "I had to move out of Charlie's house to feed this thing," she replied. "I invaded your house and forced myself on Carlisle." I was about to tell her she was an idiot for thinking any such thing, but her glare told me to hold my tongue.

"You spent a fortune rigging this house like Guantanamo, and on top of that you spent years rearranging your whole life to fit my habits. I hated that. I hate it now. Depending on how much of a dick you were being that day, I hated it a little less." She smirked. That was fair. "But dragging Emmett out of bed at four in the morning is seriously the last straw. I'm sick of myself, you know? I don't want to be this way anymore."

"That all makes perfect sense to me," I responded. "But don't spend a second worrying about Emmett, my dad, and especially not me. Screw that noise. We love you. Four in the morning or two in the afternoon, it doesn't fucking matter. If you're serious about this, I'll do whatever you need. I just want you to make this decision for you and not anyone else."

Bella nodded, biting her lip while she seemed to contemplate that a moment. "I've thought about it for a while," she informed me. "There was a chance I was going to move out." I didn't need the reminder. "I figured I'd just go cold turkey. Maybe it'd feel different in a new city." She sighed, looking away. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. Point is I want to quit."

"What do you need from me?" I wrapped my arm around her waist to pull her closer. "I can talk to my dad. He'll help us find a therapist."

She shook her head. "No. I can't do therapy. I don't want pills and stupid breathing exercises or whatever else. That would just be substituting one crutch for another. I have to do this my way."

"Okay."

"Don't let me," she stated. "No matter how bad it gets—I'm going to have shitty days—don't let me cheat. Don't let me beg or bargain and guilt you into backing off."

"Straight detox is it then?"

"Yep."

And so I understood. With her episode this morning, Rose had been the deciding factor.

"Will you still love me if I have to tie you up and sit on you?"

Bella smiled, weaving one hand into my hair and scratching her nails over my scalp. "Will you still love me if I turn into a raging bitch?"

"If?"

She tugged my hair hard. Bella rolled over me, straddling my hips. "You'll pay for that one," she warned.

"Do your worst, sweetheart." I grabbed her hips, pressing her down on my groin. "I'll lie here and take it like a man."

"Damn right," she quipped.

"Punky?" I took her face in my good hand, running my thumb over her cheek. "I love you. I'm really proud of you. And no matter what happens, I'm always here."

"Fuck, Cullen. Go fish your balls out of my backpack, will ya?"

"That's my girl."

xXx

"Neither of us slept that night," I informed Not-doctor Reid. "She was anxious. We'd established ground rules. Bella wasn't allowed to touch the locks. None. I would go through the house and check the doors, but no windows. And she wasn't allowed to follow me. But that night after I'd set the alarm and we were watching TV in bed, Bella was agitated. She didn't throw a fit or anything, but I saw that she was just shy of losing it. So we stayed awake. I played my guitar for her, we played cards; anything to keep her mind occupied."

"And the next morning?" she asked.

"She waited outside in the car. I'm sure she watched on the video feed from her phone, but she stayed there. We had to drive separately so I could meet with my attorney." I smirked, stretching my legs out as I sat back on the sofa. "But you already know how that went."

Reid gave me a polite nod. She wore a button-up blouse and dress pants with a pair of heels. It was a vast departure from her usual jeans and T-shirts. I didn't spend a second thinking she'd finally dressed up for me.

"You got a lunch date or something?" I asked. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You look nice," I shrugged. "What's with the outfit?"

"I'm presenting the first draft of my thesis to my advisor."

"What's it about?"

"We're getting off topic." Her demeanor shifted.

Thus far, we'd had an easy rapport. Though I at times devolved into a surly disposition, depending on where the conversation took us during our sessions, she didn't offend quickly. In that respect, I suppose she was a good fit for me. Reid listened with interest and asked thoughtful questions, but my occasional attitude spasms were met with patient boredom, like she was just waiting for the screaming child in the restaurant booth behind her to shut the hell up and get on with eating his chicken tenders.

This was new. She appeared just a touch uncomfortable and agitated. I interpreted the new look as nerves and decided that we weren't in this room to talk about her personal life, and so I dropped the subject.

"So that was the day everything went off the rails," I announced. Reid woke up her iPad and crossed her legs. "I had just left the attorney's office with word that Aro wanted a payoff. I refused, of course. I walked into Doctor Richardson's class and was promptly sent out to see the student disciplinary board. It was just a preliminary hearing. Since Aro hadn't filed charges, I was there for them to tell me I was on probation pending a hearing. It didn't matter; the lawyer was already working on an argument. After that, I headed toward the art building to catch up with Bella before her next class."

"There's a pattern here," she commented. "Your default response is to protect Bella."

"Of course," I answered. "Always. She saved me. I love her."

"But you do so at the expense of the truth," Reid argued. "You had made progress in your relationship. You were communicating openly."

"And not thirty hours earlier, she'd taken a huge step toward changing her life. I couldn't take that away from her."

"Is it possible that, more than shielding Bella, you wanted to feed your own need for revenge?"

"She would have talked me out it."

"So you lied."

"So I lied."

The pieces were all going to fall into place. Everyone was lined up like dominoes. All I had to do was knock over the first one. Jessica, Lauren, James, Jacob. Twenty-seven seconds of video to topple them all.

xXx

I had been awake for…too long. Following the hearing, my headache was back, throbbing behind my eyes. The sky was overcast, periodically spitting mist that wasn't quite rain. Dampness sank into my hair, my clothes.

Crossing the courtyard toward the art building, I sent Bella a text to tell her I'd meet her outside her classroom. I wanted to check on her, see how she was getting along and measure her level of anxiety on her first day out of the house without going through her ritual. More than that, I just wanted to see her.

As I passed the parking lot, my phone buzzed. It wasn't the response I'd expected.

Tanya: I have what you asked for. Come over.

Not bloody likely.

My phone buzzed again.

Alice: Where are you?

I typed a reply: Heading to meet Bella.

Alice: Art parking lot. Row 17.

I considered blowing her off too, but I was already there and had a few minutes to spare before Bella's class let out. Besides, Alice would just as likely track me down if there was something she wanted. It was pointless to avoid her.

Diverting toward the lot, I found Alice standing behind Bella's car. She drove Esme's Volvo. That shitty truck of hers had kicked it not long after my mother died. Carlisle insisted that Bella take it. I always assumed that she agreed because, at the time, she didn't want to say no to him.

"Morning, Tiny Tim. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her head snapped up. My stomach sank. Alice always had a smile on her face, even when it was sarcastic. Today she wore an expression that bisected anger and worry.

"I borrowed Bella's keys to grab her spare camera flash from the trunk. I found that." She nodded toward the front of the car. The driver's window was busted out, glass littering the front seat and floorboards. On the steering wheel was "WHORE!" written in red lipstick. I stared at the libelous scrawl.

"Leave," I demanded.

"What are you going to do?"

"Fix it."

"Bella—"

"Don't tell her," I snapped.

"I have—"

"No." I hovered over the much smaller girl, my shoulders tense with rage. "Keep your fucking mouth shut, Alice."

"She needs to know."

"Trust me." It wasn't a plea, but a command. "She can't handle this shit right now. Just keep her busy."

"How?"

"Fucking figure it out. I don't care." I opened the door and brushed the broken glass off the seat. Using my copy of Bella's car key, I started the engine. "Go," I told Alice while wiping the foul red grease from the wheel and smearing it on my jeans. "Keep an eye on Bella. If either of those fucking cunts get anywhere near her, you call me." Without waiting for a response, I backed out of the space and took off.  
My first stop was the campus police station to file a report. The title and registration were in my name, so there was no need to involve Bella there. Handing over my name raised a few eyebrows, but there was fuck all they could do to me.

Realistically, I didn't expect much. This was a college campus after all; break-ins and vandalism were common and rarely solved. Unless the damage was in the thousands, they had better things to spend their time on.

My next mission was to have the window replaced. I took the car to the Volvo dealership, figuring it was best option for having the right replacement in stock. I was told it would take about four hours to get to the repair, but it would be completed quickly after that. Not like I had much of a choice.

While on the bus back to campus, my phone buzzed again. The timing was spot on.

Tanya: You'll want to see this. I'm trying to help you out.

This time I agreed with her. If Tanya had something on Lauren and Jessica, she had my undivided attention.

xXx

"About the other night—"

"You wanted to show me something," I interjected as Tanya led me into her room. "That's all I came for."

I stood in the center of the shared bedroom, still a messy collection of clothes on the floor and unmade beds. Tanya kept a straight face, showing no reaction to my curt dismissal. I aimed to keep this simple, take what I needed and leave. She crossed to her desk and opened her laptop. A QuickTime window popped up.

"What is it?" I asked as she pressed play.

"A party at Sigma house last week." The shaky, dark video from a camera phone showed a group of frat guys packed in a room and circled around two girls taking keg stands. "Forget that part," Tanya told me. "Watch the corner up here." She enlarged the video and pointed to the upper-right corner.

At first, there was nothing but blurry figures passing back and forth. The camera shook some more, losing focus and moving around the group. Over the shoulder of one guy cheering on the drunken competition, I saw a familiar face. James. Two heads of brunette hair briefly obscured him. The handoff was unmistakable. Just as the guy in the foreground moved out of the frame, I watched Lauren tuck something into James' front pocket. In return, he handed Jessica a small baggy of white tablets.

"Play it again," I demanded. She scrolled back a few seconds, just to the point where Lauren's profile graced the screen. Their identities were unmistakable. I grabbed a pen from her desk and jotted down my email address. "Send it to me."

"Are you sure you want this?" Tanya leaned against the edge of her desk. "If you make trouble, you're going to become very unpopular. This video could get Sigma suspended."

"I could give a fuck. I'm getting Lauren and Jessica expelled. Arrested if possible." The university had a zero-tolerance policy for narcotics on campus. The video probably wasn't enough to charge them for that incident, but maybe it could get a search warrant. At the very least, they'd get hauled in for questioning about James.

"Then leave me out of it." Tanya turned back to her computer, sending the email. She snapped the laptop shut and turned to look me over. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"No."

She nodded as if she'd expected the answer. As well she should. We'd never been friends. Our "relationship" had been based entirely on convenient sex. Without that component, neither of us had anything to say. No one was a victim here; we'd used each other in equal share. And so I left without goodbyes or remorse.

xXx

"Edward, come in." The dean welcomed me into his office with that same unusual joy that reminded me why I despised him. I took the chair in front of his desk as he slid a stack of folders away. "I was hoping to speak to you," he said as he adjusted in his chair. "I'm glad you came to me."

Came to me. The inflection suggested I was here to seek advice from a mentor and confidante. As if from a dozen other potential candidates, I somehow felt such respect and deference toward this man that I would throw myself at his feet to find counsel and support. I hated him with an irrational passion. My fists clenched as he appraised me with an appreciative smile. I pushed my sleeves up my decorated forearms, reminding him that I was not the clean-cut protégé of his fantasies.

"I want a deal," I stated. "The man you invited to this campus, to an event you required me to attend, is attempting to extort me."

"Yes, well…" He cleared this throat, again shifting in his chair. "That was a serious incident. I understand he refused to press charges."

"He can't face me in court."

"Can't?"

"Can't. Won't. He mistakenly assumes that I have something to lose in this fight. I don't."

"You appeared before the disciplinary board this morning," he commented. "Expulsion is a consideration on the table. Your behavior—"

"Was justified." The dean looked at my cast resting on my lap. I damn near threw my chair across his desk.

To be honest, I didn't especially care if I got kicked out. It wasn't like a degree in music added much to my CV. I had enough money stashed away to support myself while entertaining other interests. But graduating was important to my father; that was the sole motivation for giving a fuck. If his only son were expelled from college, Carlisle would feel as though he'd failed me somehow. I would never let him down.

"I'll go to anger management." I'd done it before. It wouldn't be such a horrible trade. "Counseling, whatever."

"I'm afraid that decision isn't up to me," he answered.

"I know that." I pulled out my phone and opened the video from my email. "But you're going to take this to whomever does have the authority." I stood and placed my phone in front of him, scrolling ahead to the relevant scene. "That is evidence of narcotics sold inside a campus fraternity. I can identify the dealer and females with him." The dean studied the video for a moment before lifting his eyes to mine. "You tell me what buys me enough pull to get those girls kicked out."

"Edward, I—" He slid his finger across the screen, reviewing the footage once more. "There are procedures. An investigation—"

"Then I suggest you get the appropriate authority involved and get to it. If I have to ask again, this will become embarrassing for all concerned." I grabbed my phone and turned away, speaking to the door. "My attorney will distribute the video. When my terms are met, I'll hand over the names."

xXx

Between classes, I sat in my empty corner of the student union reading room and called my dad. Needless to say, he had reservations concerning my recent choices.

"Son, I strongly urge you to be honest with Bella. Go to Charlie; tell him what's happened. The two of you can reassure her."

"Out of the question," I answered. "Dad, she just worked up the courage to take the first step. She wants this so badly. I can't take it away from her."

"That's your fear. Bella—"

"Has been through enough. What happens when I tell her that no place is safe? She won't drive? She won't get in a car? What if she decides she can't leave the house? I'm not taking that chance."

"I think you're underestimating her."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But there is only so much one person can take. Everyone has a breaking point."

"Talk to Charlie," he repeated. "This is serious, Edward."

"I've filed a police report." I propped my feet up on the small table in front of me, shutting my eyes as I leaned back in the overstuffed chair. The pounding in my head intensified.

"Son." The tone in his voice told me this wasn't a negotiation. "Think carefully on the repercussions if Bella were to find out you kept this from her. I'm flying in Friday night for her birthday this weekend. Before I leave, I'd like the four us to sit down and have an honest discussion. You're getting in over your head here."

"Please, dad. Trust me on this one. I can fix it and she won't have to know. She needs this chance to make the changes she wants. If dump this on her now, there's no way she'll take it well."

"I'm worried about both of you. This business with Jessica is escalating. I wish you'd told me she was still a problem. You should talk to the lawyer about a new restraining order."

"I understand. I will."

"You might want to have Charlie pay a friendly visit to the Stanley and Mallory residences. I'm sure they'd be concerned to know their daughters are in need of help."

Always reliable with a delicate segue. The families of Lauren and Jessica still lived in our hometown. There was no harm in letting Charlie know about the video. Maybe if their parents were better informed on their daughter's activities, they'd step in and get their children in check.

That was Carlisle's way of telling me he didn't have to like my decision, but that it was mine to make. There was this unusual dynamic in our piecemeal family: Bella and I had always been somewhat unparentable. Not that we were bad kids. When you raise an adopted son or daughter who has endured more of the horrors of life in five years than most people will in sixty…well, it's tricky.

Carlisle and Charlie were good parents—the best. They just had more compassion and empathy than will to set limits. Think about: If the cancer kid wants to eat ice cream and gummy bears for dinner every night, you fucking let him. Yeah, we weren't dying, but one could argue that our trauma was worse. A person has nothing to fear when he's dead.

Ultimately, it was understood that Bella and I would always go our own way. And if the last few years had proved anything, it was that we'd always close ranks together. I loved Carlisle, and she loved Charlie, but it had always been the two of us. No matter that I couldn't claim to be older or wiser, neither of us could be overruled when speaking for the other.

To put it another way: At eighteen I gained access to my trust. That same year I created a living will. If ever the circumstances warranted the question, I named Bella to determine when to pull the plug.


	32. Chapter 32

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N:** I've started a new story because apparently my ADD knows no bounds. **Tension **is set in the Adirondack region of Upstate New York. On a mission to fulfill a promise to his brother, Edward returns to Lake George to see about a girl. Have you ever seen a car slapped with bumpers stickers that call to you like a kindred spirit? What if you followed it? Climbward story told from EPOV. Maybe a little BPOV.

Also, new chapters are up for Rare Purity. Don't make me regret this. :-)

And last announcement: I'm on Facebook now: Ta Paixao. Come find me and say hello.

* * *

**Chapter 32: Right pieces, wrong puzzle**

**Fuck me sideways. Twice.**

The dealership called at 1:00 to tell me the car was ready. I put an early end to the pointless meeting with my Jazz ensemble to hop the bus and pick up Bella's car. When I got there, the guy talked me through his spiel about the complexities of the repair, all meant to justify the exorbitant price tag. Whatever. I handed him my credit card and sucked it up. It was worth it to avoid putting the claim on Bella's car insurance.

On campus, I stalked the parking lot until a car pulled out of a space near where Bella had originally parked. I hoped she'd dismiss the difference as a memory glitch. Since I usually drove, it wasn't so far fetched. I had time before her last class let out, so I canvassed the vehicle to make sure I'd cleaned up any trace of broken glass. First I took the floor mats out of the driver's side front and rear, shaking them out and gathering the few bits trapped under the seat. Kneeling on the pavement around the passenger side, I found an unmarked pill bottle under the seat.

"Edward?"

Under any other circumstances, I might have stood and asked Bella to give a perfectly rational explanation for what I'd found. But today had been shit so far. Why stop now?

I stood, bottle in hand, and shoved it in her face. "The fuck is this shit?"

Bella took a step back, surprised at my anger. Her expression turned fierce after taking a moment to survey the scene she'd come upon. "Why were you searching my car?"

"My car," I corrected. Dick move number 2. "Explain this."

"Bite me," she snapped. Bella reached for the bottle, but I stuffed it in my pocket. "Fine." She rounded the car, flinging open the passenger seat on the other side to toss her backpack inside then slamming it shut. Bella got in the driver's seat, glaring at me through the open door. "Move," she demanded.

"Not a chance." I bent to look her straight on. "I'm waiting for answer. And where are going?"

"My last class was canceled. You're not getting an answer. I have plans. Now get the fuck out of my way, Edward."

"Or what, you'll run me over?"

"Thinking about it."

I took a breath, moving between the open passenger door and the car. "Punky, it's been a rough fucking day. You don't want to press me."

"No shit," she laughed without humor. "Damndest thing happened this morning. Alice finds me to return my keys. I tell her I'm waiting for you, but she says something came up and you aren't meeting me. Funny how you forgot to mention that. But then it all makes sense because an hour later I get a phone call from the campus police asking about the vandalism on my car—oh, sorry, your car—this morning in the parking lot. My parking decal is on the rear windshield, dumbass. You didn't think they'd call me?"

Fuck me sideways. Twice.

"There a problem here?" Jake came strolling up with his tail puffed out like a feral cat. He cut me a glare while addressing Bella. "Bells, you okay?"

"This is your shit," I accused, "isn't it?" I charged at him, ripping him away from the front of the car. He pushed me, so I shoved him up against the trunk, slamming the pill bottle at his chest. "I told you what would happen. I fucking warned you, asshole."

"Edward, stop it." Bella grabbed my cast and yanked hard. I had no choice but to let her pull me away, the jolt of force went straight to my broken fingers and hurt like hell. "You are so out of line."

I rounded on her, fuming and tense. "Really? The proof's right there and you're defending him?"

"It isn't what you think," she replied in a tight, controlled voice.

"Leave him," Jake ordered. "Come on, Bells." He grabbed her shoulder. I smacked his hand away.

"Touch her again," I dared him. "Give me a reason."

"Edward," Bella chided me.

"Give me the bottle," Jake demanded with his hand held out.

"So you admit it. You pathetic fucking junkie." I held the bottle away from him. "I don't want to see you anywhere near my girl—" He lunged for the bottle, but I was faster. I chucked it across the parking lot. That earned me a new black eye. Fucker hurt, too.

"Jake! Fuck both of you assholes." Bella got in my way before I could return the hit. She wrapped her arms around me, forcing me to back up several feet. "Stop," she snapped. "No more. It's over."

"The hell it is," I growled. I watched over her head as Jake went in search of the pill bottle. "He's history, Punky. You're not hanging around that dipshit anymore. You were wrong about him. He admits it. End of discussion."

"We'll talk about this later." Bella released me and stepped away. "Go home."

"What?"

"Go home, Edward. I'm telling you right now: If you don't shut up and walk away, I won't be home tonight."

"You're shitting me." I moved toward her, but she backed away again—toward Jake. "Sweetheart…"

"Go home," she repeated with a flat inflection. "I can't deal with you right now." I watched her chase after Jake as he combed up and down aisles of cars.

The fuck just happened?

xXx

"She'll be back," Alice insisted as she watched me type the fifteenth text message demanding Bella return as many voicemails I'd sent. "Just give her time to cool off."

"You couldn't have warned me?" I accused. "It was a fucking ambush."

"Don't put this on her," Jasper defended. He and Emmett sat at the counter eating leftovers after rehearsal while my knee bounced and I obsessively watched the blank screen of my phone.

"I didn't know," Alice said. "Bella didn't mention anything. In fact, she seemed pretty normal all day."

"She'll come home," Emmett offered again. "And you better be wearing a cup when she does."

"This isn't funny," I snapped.

He exhaled, putting his fork down and shoving a full plate of food away. Emmett turned to face me with a serious expression. "You're right," he agreed. "It isn't funny. And you don't have a leg to stand on, bro. You fucked up. I don't care if your heart was in the right place; you should have told her the truth. And that shit with Jake? Damn, Edward. You need to lay off the guy before Bella drops your ass. She's only going to take so much."

"How are you taking his side?" I stood, pacing the length of the kitchen. "He's a lousy junkie."

"Watch it," he warned. Em looked about an inch from giving me a new shiner to match my right left eye. "Hop on down from your high horse for a second and consider that maybe you don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"What's to know? He admitted the pills are his. I'm not letting some doped up pill-popper drag Bella down with him."

Em was off his stool an in my face in a second. He pushed me up against the wall with his arm over my throat. Jasper tried to pry him off, but Em was stronger than the two of us together.

"That's enough," he growled. "You don't know fuck all about this guy."

"And you do?"

"No," he admitted in a clam voice, "but if he's got a problem, it doesn't make him a bad person. How about showing a little fucking compassion, huh?"

"Oh fuck off." He let me shove him away. "We're not talking about Rose. She chose to get clean. Good on her. It isn't the same thing."

"And maybe Bella is just trying to help this kid out," he replied. "Did you stop for a second to consider that? She's a smart girl. And while you turned your back on your best friend, he was there for her. They stayed friends when you wouldn't even say two words to the girl. What right do you think you have for getting in the middle of it?"

"She's mine," I shouted. "She lives in my house. She's—" There just weren't the right words to explain the connection between Bella and I. She was everything.

"You two only just started to put everything back together," Em said. "But that doesn't mean the life she's had outside of you suddenly ends or stops being important." '

He approached me with an empathetic expression and grabbed the back of my neck in his firm grip. "Edward, man, listen to me. I love you guys, but you're doing a bang-up job of fucking this twelve ways to Tuesday. Both of you have spent so much time keeping everything hidden and bottled up that you have no idea how to talk to each other anymore. Yeah, she messing up by keeping you out of the loop, but you're making the same mistakes."

I deflated, taking a step back to slide down the wall. "How did you get so wise and shit?" I asked as I looked up at the big guy.

"Oprah," he shrugged. Behind him, Alice laughed. "What?"

"I love you, Em." Her smile was bright.

"Jasper?" I looked to him, expecting he had a similar dressing down to offer. "Get yours while the getting's good."

"Nah," He waved me off. "I think that about covers it."

The front door opened and shut. I glanced around the corner to see Bella drop her bag by the door.

"Well," Alice chirped. "I think we've overstayed our welcome." She got up from her stood and grabbed her satchel from the floor. "Come on, boys."

They filed out, pausing to exchange muffled words with Bella in the foyer. I braced myself when I heard the front door click shut behind them. Bella took her time taking off her shoes before climbing the stairs. At that, I got up and cleared the kitchen, tossing the rest of the leftovers and rinsing the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. I then proceeded to wipe down the counters, the stove, and every damn surface until Punky finally came downstairs in my TOOL sweater and a tiny pair of black shorts. She owned an excessive number of those things.

"I'm an asshole," I offered as I tossed the sponge in the sink.

She took a seat at the counter with her elbows bent and chin propped up on her fists. "I'm at peace with that."

Biting back a smirk, I nodded. "Alice saw the broken window and called me. She probably told me first only because you were still in class. It's not her fault."

"No confusion there," she replied. "Go on."

I leaned against the sink, running my hand through my hair as I gathered my thoughts. "I just wanted to fix it, you know? Make it go away. I would have gotten away with it if not for those meddling coppers." I waited for a little smile. Didn't happen. "The timing just sucked," I sighed. "I'd like to think if it had happened on any other day—"

"You still would have lied," she interjected. "That's just the way you are."

"I don't make it habit to lie to you," I argued.

"No. But you would rather shelter me than tell the truth. I get why you did it," she admitted, "but that doesn't make it any better. I kept waiting for you to call and tell me. I thought maybe you would after you got it all sorted out. Like you just wanted to take care of it and then you'd sit me down and explain. But you didn't."

The disappointment on her face punched me right in the gut. I'd put that there and it fucking killed me. All I wanted to do was protect her. I wanted to keep the bad things away and make her happy. And I'd failed in spectacular fashion.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." I reached over the counter for her hand. She just stared at mine. That hurt. "I messed up. You're right. I should have told you. Please forgive me."

"I do," she shrugged. "What I'm having a hard time with is that you thought I couldn't handle it. Like I'm so fragile that you can't trust me enough to be honest."

"That's not it," I insisted.

"Then what?"

"You're trying to make a huge change in your life," I told her. "You've heaped all this pressure and stress on yourself. I just didn't want to toss one more thing on top of it."

"Tell me how that's different."

Damn it. I was drowning fast, sinking like a led dumbass. Rounding the counter, I wrapped my arms around her stomach from behind and pressed my lips to her neck. "I love you," I stated softly against her ear. "You're the strongest, bravest person I know, Bella. You've been my goddamn hero since for-fucking-ever. You're my Superman, Batman, and Buddha wrapped in one perfect package of my dream woman."

I pushed her hair to the side, nuzzling her cheek. "But even Superman has his Kryptonite. Even the strongest, bravest people have limits, sweetheart. I don't think you're fragile or weak or whatever the fuck. For once, I wanted to be the one protecting you instead of the other way around. That's all, Bella. I just wanted to feel like you needed me half as much I've always needed you."

"You're so full of shit," she replied in a voice that sounded a little choked. I felt a tear run down her cheek and kissed it away. "But it sounded nice."

"I meant every word," I confirmed. Her body relaxed against my chest as I held her. "When I saw the damage, I just sort of snapped. I didn't really stop to think."

"That's a first," she quipped.

"Yeah, well…" I kissed her temple, squeezing her in my arms. "I am sorry. And I don't blame you for wanting to rip my nuts off. But Bella?" She titled her head, meeting my eyes. "Please don't ever threaten not to come home. That's a step too far."

"Yeah," she sighed. "I know. I just—you really stepped in it this time."

"Tell me what's going on," I urged. "If I'm missing something here, then just explain it to me."

"Billy's dying," she murmured. "He has stage-four liver cancer. His insurance dropped him three months ago and they can't afford his medications. He's in so much pain all the time," she stated, "but the pills help. Because they can't afford the prescriptions, Jake buys Canadian meds from James." Bella dropped her head back against my shoulder. "How fucked up is that? It's cheaper to buy illegal meds from a damn drug dealer than to go to a pharmacy."

"Damn it," I groaned. "Bella—"

"I know. You feel like a massive prick. And you should. And you were. We know."

"So why didn't you say something at the bar the other night?"

"I didn't know then." Bella traced her fingers back and forth across my forearms. "I called Jake this morning and asked if he wanted a ride to campus since his truck is still in the shop. I asked him about James and he told me."

"Did he—" I felt like a jackass for asking this. "Did he buy—"

"No," Bella answered. "I've never seen him with James before. He must have had the bottle on him when I picked him up. We didn't stop to make a drug deal on the way to school."

"I had to ask," I said by way of an apology. "Does Charlie know?"

"That Billy's dying, yeah. About the meds? No way. And I'm not going to tell him."

"You might not have a choice," I informed her with regret.

Bella turned on her stool, staring at me with hard eyes that warned me to pick my words carefully. "What did you do?"

"It had nothing to do with Jake," I began. Well, maybe a little. "Tanya sent me a video of James dealing to Jessica and Lauren at a frat party on campus last week. I took it to the dean in exchange for cutting me a deal on the thing at the seminar. I said I wanted them expelled."

"And James would get arrested," she surmised. "Shit, Edward."

"Look—"

"No, I know." Bella ran her hands up my chest. "He's a drug dealer pushing coke and speed and fuck knows what else. He should go down."

I stepped between her legs, cradling her closer. "But someone like Billy shouldn't suffer because the system dicked him over."

"Exactly."

"I talked to my dad and he said I should tell Charlie about the video," I informed her. "I called him earlier between classes."

"You did the right thing," she conceded. "You couldn't have known about Jake. That part isn't your fault."

"I'll figure it out," I assured her. "I don't know how exactly, but I'll think of something." I took Bella's chin to lift her face. "In the mean time, I'm going to start walking you to class. Smashing out a window is serious. I'd feel better if I could keep an eye on you."

"Okay," she nodded.

"How are you feeling?" I ran the back of my fingers over her cheek then combed through her hair. "Any anxiety today?"

"A little." Bella twisted her fingers in my shirt. "I think I only looked at the security camera 400 times during my first class."

"And after you got the call?"

"That's different," she insisted. "We know exactly who fucked with us. I'll de damned if I'm afraid of those dumb cunts. Seriously," she snapped. "Fuck them. You remember the day they locked me in the closet?" I stared at her. She ran her hands over my chest where the raven lay under my shirt. "Right. Stupid question. You carried me out of there like a traumatized child. I was screaming and throwing myself against the door not because I was scared, but because I was fucking livid. I would have dragged those bitches out back by their hair and beat the living shit out of them."

"I just wanted an excuse to hold you," I replied. "I knew it would have to last me a while."


	33. Chapter 33

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N:** This one is a little short, but I felt it had a good stopping point. Besides, I have like 27 other fics I'm supposed to be writing simultaneously. Sheesh.

* * *

**Chapter 33: Free Man**

**"Rabbits fuck like me."**

"This is a good time to stop and examine the events of that day," Reid suggested.

She was back to her normal attire today, wearing an ill-fitting T-shirt and jeans that were too long on her legs. She hated her body; that much was clear. She had nice, full tits, though she hid them under an oversized shirt designed to conceal her stomach. What she didn't realize was that all that baggy fabric made her appear two sizes larger than natural. Underneath it all, I saw a curvaceous woman whose figure flared in all the right places. So maybe she had a tummy and her hips were wider than she liked. So what?

"You dress like shit," I told her.

Reid didn't look up from her iPad. "Your first instinct was to fix the problem, repair the window. Previously, your initial thoughts would turn to violence or revenge."

"How does someone with body issues decide to study sex?" I asked, ignoring her question.

"Someone violated your property with an implied threat against Bella," she went on. "And yet it wasn't until Tanya offered you recourse that you considered retribution."

"Dressing like that, you don't present the image of someone qualified to tell me all the ways I'm going wrong."

"I'm sorry you find me offensive," she replied as her eyes met mine.

"No you're not." I leaned back on the sofa. "You could give a fuck what I think of you. You're the one in the shitty leather chair and I'm over here. There is a power structure to this little arrangement."

"So it's my implied power that angers you?"

"No. I'd have to fear the consequences to care about the outcome here. Because I don't, you have no power."

Reid sighed, putting her iPad to the side. "Then why are we here, Edward?"

"Am I wasting your time?" I smirked, tilting my head. With Punky, heavy objects had numerous times been hurled at my face for this look.

"It's your hour," Reid countered with that bored look she must practice in a mirror because it was too damn effective. "I get credit either way. "

"Indeed. So let's talk about why you wear that shit." I leaned forward. "How did your meeting go with your advisor?" Her eyes narrowed. "That's what I thought. You were nervous the last time I saw you, but not in that giddy, excited way. It was dread. You knew before you stepped through the door that you were going to crash and burn."

She didn't respond, though I gave her points for the unflinching poker face. "You cleaned up well," I admitted. "The outfit was nice, but it was all wrong on you. Like you were dressing up, playing a part. You don't know what the professional, powerful, polished Not-doctor Reid looks like."

"Why do you call me that?" She uncrossed and re-crossed her ankles as she sat up in her chair. Ah, there was a little fight in her.

"You tell me." I leaned toward the armrest, waiting.

"Because it allows you to walk out of here after every session and dismiss our conversations, dismiss me, as total bullshit." That was the first time she'd cursed while not quoting me. I liked it. "You assure yourself, seek to remind me, that I don't really know you—no one does—and am therefore not to be taken seriously. We're irrelevant, obsolete. You exert the absolute minimum effort and strive for nothing. You covet nothing. You have no goals, ambitions, or aspirations. You're bored, Edward. And, frankly," she punctuated with an inflection that I recognized as my own, "you're boring me with your narcissism."

"Just a minute, little lady." Okay, maybe that jab was taking it too far. "I can claim many vices and personality disorders. Take your pick. I'll own it. Narcissism isn't one of them."

In any other situation, Reid might have rolled her eyes. The inclination to do so was there, but she refrained. "With few exceptions, you tick off every characteristic on the list," she informed me with a bland tone. "Excessive preoccupation with power, personal adequacy, prestige…" She paused, looking me over with expectantly. "Shall I go on?"

"You're on a roll," I encouraged. "Don't stop now. I love hearing about myself." That last bit was laying it on thick, even for me.

"Within the general population, you believe you're better than others, you fantasize about control, refer to your past achievements with conceited hyperbole, and expect constant praise and admiration of others. If you don't get it—such as not being publicly recognized at the seminar—you rationalize away the expectation and then resent the perceived adoration.

"You repeatedly state you have no fear of consequences, brought on by a lack of adequate punishment for infractions during your childhood. You frequently miss the emotional cues of others—Bella most of all—in favor of your own misguided notions. You take advantage of the tolerance of others; you're jealous, assume you are highly envied, have fragile self-esteem, and when you're not assaulting or physically attacking another person, you default to a state of unemotional stubbornness."

"That was a mouthful," I commented unfazed. "Feel better?"

"No," she huffed. I was getting to her, exasperating her and testing the limits of the Not-doctor's cool composure. "Because it isn't real," Reid lamented. "And you know that. You really are too smart for your own good. So smart that you've conned yourself into believing the lie."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"That for all your ill-conceived endeavors to rectify or normalize your behavior, you are still essentially a victim. You're terrified, Edward. You are more the scared five-year-old boy curled up on a dirty mattress, discarded and crying, than a man and a survivor." My fists clenched and my jaw locked. It took great concentration to keep my knee from bouncing. "Name one fear you've overcome in the last eighteen years."

"Sex," I hissed through my teeth without hesitation. "Rabbits fuck like me."

"And you can't blow a load without curling into a ball and regressing to that same little boy." She revealed no pride for pulling the trigger on that well-aimed shot. Instead, she resembled an owner putting down a dying, pathetic animal. I stared at her in silence. As if every second I didn't tell her to fuck off and then slam the door behind me proved her wrong.

"I dress like this," she added with an honest tone, "because we're here to discuss your sexuality, not mine. You're obsessed with the topic. With good cause," Reid added. "But what if you could change the way you think about your trauma? What you endured was abuse, Edward. Not sex. Subjugation. Let's work toward that goal."

We eventually got back around to talking about the small catastrophe that began with a broken window. It all came back to fear.

Fear of Bella's reaction.

Fear of my inability to protect her.

Fear of someone hurting her.

Fear of losing her.

Fear of abandonment.

The list of things I couldn't live without was neatly short. Bella topped it.

Reid was not at all smug when I arrived at that conclusion. My natural instinct when confronted with fear was to demonstrate power, to exert control over the situation. Depending on the circumstances, control manifested as manipulation, retribution, the need to inflict harm—physically if possible.

"You're steadfastly against the idea of hitting a woman," she stated in regards to the long-standing issues with Lauren and Jessica.

"Of course."

"Why?"

That struck me as an unusual question. The answer was obvious, though she wanted something else. I didn't understand what.

"Proper manners aside," she continued, "why not hit a woman who has threatened you or someone you want to protect? You've struck men for less."

"Because…" I was stuck. I didn't have a good answer.

"Would you hit a child or a disabled person?"

"No."

"What do they have in common in your mind?"

I rubbed my hand through my hair and slumped sideways on the sofa, exhausted. "You don't pick on someone smaller, weaker."

"So you view women as weaker," she concluded.

"No," I groaned. "Don't make me a chauvinist."

"Not at all," she said. "But consider that for a moment."

I did. Closing my eyes and laying my arm over my forehead, I went round and round in search of the response Reid intended me to offer. I fucking hated these leading questions. We'd been over this. Why not just tell me?

Bella came to mind. Well, Emmett's story of how he and Bella had become friends. "I was the kid getting bullied in the lunch line," I muttered.

"What was that?" Reid asked.

I shook my head, dismissing the remark. "I was the only one," I began. "I don't know if that's in the notes. Other kids came and went from that foster home. Including Bella, there were four or five others at any given time. But I was the only one—at least I'm pretty sure—that he abused. I was also the smallest. It wasn't until I was thirteen that I started to grow into my body, you know? All this," I gestured over myself, "happened all at once. One day I woke up six inches taller than everyone else. Until Bella got there, I was also the youngest."

"Go on," Reid encouraged.

Sliding back farther on the sofa, I exhaled and took a minute to gather my thoughts in some kind of logical order. "He picked on the runt. And what could I do, right? I had no choice but to take it. And I hate the word helpless. So one day I wake up and I'm not so helpless anymore. I got in a lot of fights when I was a kid," I told her. "Sure, I had anger issues. Have anger issues," I corrected, "but that wasn't the only reason. Standing up to a bully or whatever. Fighting against someone by whom I felt threatened somehow. I picked some of those fights," I admitted. "I started a few. I was the bully. Because I could. Because one great fucking day I woke up and realized I was bigger and stronger than the other guys my age and I didn't have to take shit."

"You ran from Aro the first time he touched you," Reid interjected.

My eyes still closed and my cast resting over my face, I nodded. "I was still a kid back then and he was an adult. Not so much the second time around." I opened my eyes and dropped my arm to the side. It was at that point I realized I'd gone horizontal on the sofa. Goddamn siren furniture mistress. My eyes met Reid, who watched me with interest. "Breaking his jaw wasn't impulsive or an act of sudden rage. I told myself a long time ago I'd make that bastard pay if I ever say him again. I was just making good on a promise."

"The black eye in the bar?" She asked.

"Self-defense. He caught me off guard."

"Attacking Jacob at the hospital?"

I gave her look, to which she nodded. He'd almost killed the most important person in my world. "And narcotics fall into the same category of endangering Bella's life," I added.

"Hitting the tire," Reid offered up.

"Stress relief," I replied. "Not unlike going at a punching bag in a gym or pounding five miles of pavement until you're too tired to be mad anymore."

"Mike Newton." Her eyes watched me for a reflex reaction. I was too damn tired to beat my chest or toss a chair.

"He touched her," I answered. "In an overtly sexual manner. It was unwanted. Just because women cut us too much slack for getting grabby when we're drunk it doesn't mean it wasn't a big deal. In my opinion, Bella underreacted."

"I believe you," she said. Reid closed the cover on the iPad and set it aside. "I neither approve of nor condemn your actions. That's irrelevant. What's important to discern is if you understand where the motivation for violence in these situations originated. Logically, you do. You also understand the difference between rage and reasoning. While you might not have stopped to consider the reasoning at the time, each scenario connected with a particular area of your decision-making and earned a response."

"I've got a headache and I haven't slept for shit," I groaned. "Give it to me straight."

"You don't have an anger-management problem, Edward. Neither are you prone to excessive violence as your sole means of conflict resolution. You know what is considered acceptable behavior, but do not temper yourself when there are no consequences. There are very specific circumstances under which you feel fear, threatened, or motivated to protect. When you are afraid or perceive a threat, you get angry; that is not unnatural. Rather than treating the symptom, you would be better served by working to eliminate the fear while also re-training your brain to mediate your anger response. Medication can help.

"Right," I exhaled. "I'm just a big pussy." Her eyes chastised me. She didn't appreciate my self-deprecating humor in this context. "Joking."

"So," she continued, "as far as I'm concerned, you can walk out that door a free man. I'll write up my evaluation and recommended that your enrollment continue."

I sat up, wary. "That's it?"

"Not nearly," she smiled. "Unless I told the disciplinary board that you were likely to come back with an assault riffle and fifty rounds of ammo, you were never in real danger of expulsion. You know that. We're all going through the motions here."

"So what then?" I prodded.

"Keep our appointments." It was a challenge. A dare. "Come back for our next session and let's really go to work. Commit to meaningful therapy and digging into the topics we've skimmed so far. Do it for yourself and not because anyone is forcing you."

I placed my elbows on my knees, studying Reid as she swiveled back in forth in her chair by the tip on her shoe, just a couple inches to each side. She was too damn excited by the prospect.

"And why do you care either way?"

Reid smirked and then let out a heavy breath. The pretense came down. Like this whole time—weeks now—I'd only met a character she played on TV. A persona she put on just for me.

"I like you," she said. "You're fascinating. And I want to help you. More than that, I know I can help if you're willing to work at it."

"Your advisor did reject the thesis argument for your dissertation, right? I nailed that one."

"Oh," she laughed, "he hated it. Tore my ass a new one. He'd have taken it better if I walked in and burped the alphabet." Strangely, that admission made me feel a lot better. "And I wore that stupid getup—my cousin's clothes, by the way—because it was the type of outfit he likes."

"Okay then," I nodded. "Point made."

Her back-and-forth swiveling became more animated, teasing and excited. Settle down, sugar. "What's your answer?"

"Well, if I'm so fucking fascinating…" I stood and gathered my stuff. Reid raised an eyebrow. "Use me as your subject. If you still flunk, we'll know it's just because you suck at this."


	34. Chapter 34

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N:** Do I say this enough? I don't know. THANK YOU! From the warmest, fluffiest part of my soul: Thank you for your support and encouragement. I wouldn't come back every week if not for you.

* * *

**Chapter 34: Improvise**

**...I'd cut off my own nose to appease the Lord of Daffodils that reigned over my backyard.**

As a result of my meeting with the dean, events during the following week moved quickly. By Wednesday the disciplinary board convened a hearing, during which no mention was made of the video. Though the audience consisted only of Bella, Emmett, Jasper, Alice, the dean, and my attorney seated next to me, the esteemed panel of decision makers felt it necessary to put on a show for the sake of posterity.

I was formally reprimanded for my behavior at the seminar and placed on academic probation for the duration of the semester. I was "ordered" to attend "mandatory" counseling. As if it wasn't my idea. Whatever. I agreed. Done and done.

The last word I heard through my attorney concerning the video was that the campus police had called Jessica and Lauren in for questioning and a warrant had been issued to search James' residence. The matter was in their hands now, so I was glad to be rid of the whole mess. Expulsion would take time.

Unfortunately, my lawyer had less success in finding a sympathetic judge willing to issue a new restraining order. Without proof that either Jessica or Lauren had broken the window, there were insufficient grounds. Apparently stalking and me and my roommate around campus and generally being a persistent bitch didn't warrant cause. Without an imitate threat, our hands were tied.

Charlie had slightly more success.

"Can you think of anyone else who might have vandalized the car?" he had asked when we spoke on the phone Wednesday morning.

"No. Not like this. The lipstick spoke pretty loudly to me."

"Right," he muttered in agreement.

"Contrary to my reputation, I don't have enemies."

"I didn't say anything," Charlie replied.

"You don't have to."

"Look, Edward." His voice changed, taking on that fatherly tone. "I've watched you grow up with my girl." My girl, but go on, I thought. "And for the most part, you've always taken care of each other." Except for those few years when I broke her heart and then made her crawl around to gather the pieces. Neither one of us were going to forgive me for that anytime soon. "But you have always looked out for her," he added. "And I know you're a good guy. I know you love her."

"I do," I confirmed.

"What I'm saying is…" Charlie paused, clearing his throat. "She's never really needed me. She didn't need a dad. That kid raised herself by sheer force of will. Bella does need you. I'll do everything in my power to help her out, keep her safe, anything."

"I understand," I answered. I hadn't anticipated this conversation to come quite so soon. I figured I'd have at least bought the ring first.

"If you break that girl's heart again, I'll shoot you down myself."

"Understood."

"Alright." He cleared his throat again and his tenor altered accordingly. "I'll have a chat with their parents."

The parents were none too thrilled to learn of their daughters' illicit activities while living it up in the city. While Charlie was out of his jurisdiction to act, he made it clear in no uncertain terms that those girls should keep their noses clean and keep their distance from us.

That mess handled as best it could, I turned my attention to more important matters. My father was due to arrive Friday for Bella's birthday this weekend and I had a lot to accomplish before then. Fortunately, I had a small army of the best kind of friends who were more than eager to help me out.

Thursday I walked Bella to her second class where Alice met us. We shared an empty hour for lunch, so I treated Tiny Tim to a date at the Thai restaurant next to Jupiter.

Alice sat decked out like an estranged member of The Cure if they'd had a Harajuku phase, smiling her approval between bites of pra ram.

"Stop it," I told her.

"Nope."

"You're pissing me off." The one thing I could not do with my broken hand was use chopsticks. I picked up the fork.

"No I'm not," she sang.

"You're an irritating little sprite."

"Maybe. But you crave my approval. You're doing well, Edward. Enjoy it and let me have my moment."

"Do it with less smiling," I replied. She rolled her eyes. "You have to keep her busy until at least…" I paused, figuring the math in my head. "At least eight tonight. I told her I have a rehearsal with my Jazz ensemble after class."

"No problem," she answered. "I'll bring her back to my place. I wanted to show her the designs I've been working on for the shoot. Actually, this works out. I can get her measurements and start fitting some of the patterns."

"Just stay in, okay?" I met her eyes. Alice's expression sobered. "Watch movies or braid each other's hair. Whatever the fuck girls do. If she gets too suspicious, get Em or Jasper to go with you, but don't go out alone."

She set her chopsticks down, leaning forward. "You're really worried."

"Yeah." I tongued my lip ring. Spicy food always made it tingle a little.

"Like really worried."

"Like yeah," I answered mockingly.

"Hey. I'm not taking it lightly or anything," Alice remarked. "But do you really think that they'd try to hurt Bella?"

"I don't speak crazy," I answered. I cleaned off one of my chopsticks with a napkin and shoved it inside my cast to attack an itch. "I can't begin to guess what Jessica might do. Lauren? I don't really see the point in her keeping this shit up at all, which only goes to prove that I don't understand either one of them."

"Fair enough," Alice replied. "Don't sweat it. Jasper was going bring dinner over tonight anyway. We've got her covered."

"Good." I went back to my food. "Thanks, Alice."

Things at home were a bit more difficult. Fights erupted that resulted in Bella calling me every vile name she could think of and chucking hardcover books at my head. When she was too tired to yell, she let me hold her while she cried. But I kept my promise. I didn't cave. I didn't let her beg or bargain, even if it flayed me to watch the girl I loved suffer inside her own mind.

She wanted this, and I had to suck it up and be strong enough to get her through the adjustment period. We were front-loading the pain; that was the way she wanted it, and it sure as fuck wasn't my place to show an ounce of agony for heartlessly withholding what, in those dreadful moments of anxiety, she needed most.

When Bella screamed, I said no.

When she threw things, I said no.

When she shoved me, I said no.

When she beat her fists against my chest, collapsed on the floor, curled into a ball, and fucking sobbed, I just said no.

Thursday evening was a therapeutic reprieve. It was the first time since really getting Bella back that I was thankful to get some time to myself, even if there was another person on the other side of the glass.

"Come on in and I'll play it back," Professor Monroe said through the intercom.

I set my acoustic guitar in the stand and walked out of the recording stage to the control room. When I'd asked my Jazz Composition instructor what it would take to win some time in the music department's facility, I thought it was major favor. Instead, he happily said he'd sit at the console and give me five hours.

I took a seat on the couch up against the back wall. Charles Monroe was a legit jazz and blues authority and underappreciated legend. Though he wasn't a household name outside the scene, the 60-year-old had played with or mentored some of the greatest contributors to the genre since Art Tatum and Benny Goodman were at their peaks. Basically, the man was a certified badass and a seriously wicked musician.

He leaned back in the rolling leather chair behind the vintage NEVE recording console, a gift from an alumnus and yet another reason why attending this school's music program really wasn't all that bad. Monroe wore about six different varieties of the same plaid shirt with dress pants and leather loafers. Every day. He was a little guy, too. About five-foot-three and maybe 100 pounds dipped in solid gold.

When Monroe laughed, which he did often, the sound was harmonic and infectious. His cheeks crinkled up so high his black eyes were nothing more than tiny slits below thick eyebrows. In class, I always preferred to picture him behind a piano with a blue spotlight sparking off the top and a lit cigarette resting in an ashtray beside a shot of bourbon.

He swiveled in his chair to face me with a hard look. I began to fidget, flicking my tongue piercing between my teeth. One look and I was a nervous fuck.

"Why are you brining that weak shit to my class when you can write music like this?" he asked with not an ounce of humor.

I was at a loss. In fact, I just stared at him like a deaf moron until he spoke again.

"That," he pointed toward the recording stage on the other side of the window, "is some serious passion, man. That is music. I'm sitting in here getting chills and thinking about girls I kissed in tenth grade and thirty years ago when my pop died. Where does that come from and why ain't you brining it to with you every time I see you?"

"I—" No, that was much better. A full syllable that time. Frustrated with myself, I ran a hand through my hair. "I've been stuck," I told him.

Monroe rolled his chair toward me and leaned forward on his elbows. "It ain't stuck, son. What you laid down in there is all heart and hate and deep soul-searching questions that only have answers in the notes. That sterile bullshit you shill in class is—"

"Bullshit," I stated for him. "Yeah. I know."

"So?"

I leaned back, stretching my legs. "I am stuck," I repeated. "I haven't written anything halfway decent in weeks. But this stuff is old."

"Written for the piano," he answered for me.

"Yeah."

"It shows." Monroe relaxed back in his seat and crossed one ankle over his knee. "But that's how damn good it is," he added. "Because those songs still rumble your gut on six strings. What changed?"

I looked up, debating whether to answer the unwittingly loaded question. Ordinarily, I would have dismissed the topic and shut down. Essentially telling Monroe to fuck off would have made me an ungrateful prick.

"My mom died," I said. "She taught me to play. And some other bad shit happened around the same time. It was a rough time."

"So you quit?" His brow furrowed and Monroe looked at me like I'd told him I'd cut off my own nose to appease the Lord of Daffodils that reigned over my backyard.

"Well, uh, yeah." My knee bounced. I forced it still with my broken hand and went about tonguing my lip ring instead. "She died on the bench while we were playing together."

He exhaled, shaking his head. "That's rough. I get ya." Monroe leaned forward again and demanded my attention. "And grief like that is the best damn reason to keep writing, keep playing. Man, we all got shit. I grew up in the south in the '50s," he told me. "You don't think I got sadness? The world is fucked. Life is a bitch. And music makes it worth repeating every day. Damn, Edward. The best music is written from sorrow. If you don't know that," he said while shaking his head again," I ain't taught you anything."

"It's this," I answered. I held out my left hand. The right was no different except it was wrapped in a cast. Suspended in the air, my hand practically vibrated. "Thinking about my mom, thinking about playing, remembering how she died; this is what happens."

Monroe watched me shake with a critical eye until I dropped my arm in my lap, defeated. I wasn't a musician if I couldn't control my hands.

Following a long silence, he spoke again. Just his tone reached inside and told me that a master was handing down a coveted bit of brilliance. "Rusty Grabe said he couldn't play sober. He had stage fright so bad he tossed up in mop bucket until he passed out before his first set at The Cooler. The man threw fists and would have bit your ear off rather get dragged on stage without three shots of whisky. So one day, the boys and I mixed up some nasty shit. It was black as tar, tasted like charred pig turds, and shoved it down his throat." He laughed, making me smile despite myself. "Well, he still blew chunks, but we convinced him it was a good stiff drink and he got up there and killed it.

"Joey Connor developed Parkinson's," he told me. "Shook like a leaf from head to toe. So he comes to me after fifteen years and says he can't play live anymore. He can cut records, the engineer can always piece together the good takes, but Joey was too embarrassed to get up in front of a crowd. Well I told that sumbitch that we'd put his piano on springs and get some big fellas to shimmy the floor underneath him. That way the whole thing balances out."

Monroe turned around and faced the console. "Come by my office after 2:00 tomorrow. I'll have this ready for you."


	35. Chapter 35

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

* * *

**Chapter 35: String Theory**

**"Little vices, Edward. They're good for the soul."**

Looking back, there were a dozen instances when I could have avoided the outcome. Such thinking was a vicious cycle that opened up numerous paradoxes, yes. Nevertheless, despite my inability to reverse the consequences of my decisions or alter the events set in motions, I wondered what might have been avoided.

Following my recording session with Monroe, I arrived at the parking lot adjacent to the music building to find Tyler leaning against my car. At first, I almost didn't recognize him.

Mine was only one of a handful of cars scattered in the dark lot this late in the evening. As I approached, Tyler stood straight and dropped the hood of his sweater. He was thinner than when I'd last seen him a few weeks ago. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot, lips chapped. Overall, he looked like shit, sick, and as though he'd aged ten years.

"Hey, man," he said when I came closer. "How you been?"

"What do you want?" We hadn't parted on the best of terms, but it was the waiting for me in the dark that had my guard up.

He looked everywhere except in my eyes. Tyler licked his lips and fidgeted. "How are the guys?"

"Tyler." I leaned into his line of sight, but he turned his face the other direction and stared at the ground. "Why are you here?"

"Yeah, well. Look. I just wanted to—uh, you know…" He bounced back on forth on his toes, jittery and eyes darting in all directions. "Never mind. I'll catch you later." Tyler stepped past me. I grabbed his bicep.

"Spit it out," I demanded. He shook his arm free, making only a moment's worth of eye contact.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Take care of yourself."

Then he just jogged away into the shadows. I didn't know it at the time, but I would be the last person to see him alive.

I shoulda, woulda, coulda that encounter a hundred different ways, but I didn't. Instead, I shrugged him off and drove home. My father was flying in the next day, Bella's birthday was almost here, and I had a gig with the guys on Saturday. Too many personal concerns overshadowed any inclination to ponder the strange meeting longer than it took to start my car.

xXx

I missed my father the most when he was home. That logic was all backward, yes. I rarely thought about it during the months we spent talking on the phone across the country from one another. When he came to visit, it was then that I recalled how good it was to have him around. I missed the gleam of fatherly pride in his eyes. The way he hugged me as if every time I let him touch me was a gift. The sincere tone of his voice when he said he loved me.

Every time he got on a plane to return to New York, I almost went with him.

My fingers pressed to the frets and my cast-wrapped hand strumming across the strings, I played the same incomplete, disjointed bars of the song that had consumed me for weeks.

Carlisle used to watch me for an hour or more, standing in the doorway of the garage because he was afraid to interrupt my process. Though his entrance was always politely quiet, I would feel him there. And so I felt him watching me now.

"You can come in," I said. "I'm just messing around." I set the acoustic guitar aside and cleared off a chair for him. It was well past midnight. I'd left Bella asleep in her bed upstairs an hour ago.

"Actually," he replied as I turned to face him, "I was hoping my son would have a drink with me." My dad smiled, leaning against the doorway. "Perhaps a cigar."

"Doctor," I said, "I'm surprised at you."

"Little vices, Edward. They're good for the soul."

"You'll get no argument from me."

With a bottle of brandy—all this time I had never considered raiding his study for a secret stash—and two cigars, we retired to the back patio. The air was crisp, a slight breeze carrying the fragrant smoke away. We reclined in the matching Adirondack chairs.

"That one is new," my dad commented. He nodded at the reaper tattooed over my ribs.

"Yeah. Got it a few weeks ago. What do you think?" I raised my arm, leaning forward so he could examine the image in the glow cast from the security lights.

"It's…creative."

I laughed, resting back in the chair. "I figured as much."

"Bella drew it?"

"Of course," I answered.

"It is a very vivid image," he remarked. "Sam certainly does good work."

"Yeah," I agreed. "He's the best."

"Any new holes I should be aware of?" The corner of his mouth turned up in that way he had, trying not to appear too amused with his eccentric son.

"Nope. All accounted for since your last visit."

Telling my father about piercing my cock had been the most awkward part of the entire episode. I must have asked him a dozen times over the ensuing months if it would ever fully heal.

I blew a ring of smoke, watching the circle of opaque particles widen and dissipate as it traveled. The brandy burned my tongue and warmed my throat, the perfect compliment.

"Bella seems well," Carlisle said. "She's happy."

"She's glad you're home. It's been a tough week," I admitted. "Some days are better than others."

"I might have noticed a few new dents in the walls."

"There's that," I said. "But she's trying really hard. She'll get there."

"And you?"

"I believe in her. I know she can beat this thing. I'm just working to keep it together, you know? Be supportive."

"I have no doubts on either count," he replied.

That right there was perhaps the most significant of all the many reasons I loved my father; he had an unwavering faith in me, even if I didn't believe I deserved it. That sort of faith has a way of influencing a person. A man as good and honorable as Carlisle inspired me a to be a better person, if only because letting him down was such an unappealing prospect.

"I'm happy you've agreed to therapy," he remarked.

I exhaled. "Let's not make a thing of it," I replied. "It was a reasonable course of action, considering the circumstances."

"You made the right decision."

I knew my father would be pleased with the outcome of my disciplinary hearing. I also didn't want the attention associated with caving on this long-disputed point. Swallowing my pride in peace was preferable.

Carlisle puffed on his cigar, closing his eyes as his head tilted back. "I miss it here the most when I return," he said.

"I know exactly what you mean."

We sat in comfortable silence until our cigars were only stubs between our fingers and our glasses held more air than liquid. My headache, which had been a nearly constant annoyance lately, dissipated with the tension in my shoulders. I felt relaxed for the first time in a while. Quietly enjoying my father's company, appreciating the serenity of our remote property, was precisely what I needed.

"Is this a private party?" I looked over my shoulder to see Bella stepping out to the patio in those damn little shorts and my TOOL sweater. Bless that girl. "Menfolk doing men things and all that."

"Come here, sweetheart." I held the cigar between my teeth and grabbed her around the waist, dropping Punky in my lap. "See? The view just improved dramatically."

She rolled her eyes and smiled, embarrassed. "Your son is shameless," she said to Carlisle. "I don't know where he gets it." Bella yanked the cigar from my mouth and pressed a quick kiss to my lips before taking a drag.

"Never stop courting," he answered. "A little charm will earn a lot of forgiveness."

That was my new favorite discovery about her. Punky had always been shit at taking compliments—she used to punch me in the arm for saying she was pretty—but now a few sweet nothings had her blushing like the pope at a Boy Scout Jamboree. It did good things for my ego.

"You love it," I told her.

"You're only half as clever and a third as charming as you think you are," she replied. Punky gave me back the cigar then swiped my brandy glass.

"That's still twice as good as the next guy," I said.

Of course "forgiveness" had me remembering our discussion about make-up sex. A crass comment to the effect of "a big dick and a good fuck works twice as well," crossed my mind, but I thought better of voicing that in front of my father. Bella gave me a look. Either because she felt me pop half wood under her ass or she was just a fucking mind reader.

"Well," my father not so subtly announced. "I should get to bed."

"Goodnight, dad."

"Night, Carlisle."

He patted my shoulder as he passed, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Bella's head. "Goodnight," he answered. "See you in the morning. And happy birthday." Carlisle stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"That's right," I remarked. "It's after midnight." I set the cigar aside and took the glass from Bella's hand. Taking her cheek in my palm, I brought her lips to mine. "Happy birthday, Punky." She tasted like cigar and brandy, and it was hottest fucking flavor on her tongue.

"What'd you get me?" she asked. Bella draped her arms over my shoulders, her eyes bright and expectant.

"Not telling. You'll have to wait." I cradled her to my chest, running my hand up and down her bare leg.

"It's officially my birthday," she argued. "I want my present now."

"Too bad."

"Edward."

"Bella."

"I want it now," she repeated with a bit more demand in her tone.

"Say it again," I teased.

"I want it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, baby. I want it so bad. Give it to me now." Bella put on her best porn-voice impression, cracking me up.

"You naughty little thing." I squeezed her ass. "You know I can't resist when you beg."

"So I can have my gift?" Her smile brightened with her excited expression.

"No," I answered. "But I'll give you a ride on cock."

She smacked the side of my head, pouting. "You suck."

"I'll suck, lick, bite … whatever you want, sweetheart." I pulled her closer. Bella swerved when I went for her lips, so I attacked her neck instead.

"A little hint?" she begged.

"You'll have to wait and see." I kissed along the underside of her jaw and down the little blue vein while my left hand moved inside the front of her sweater to capture a handful of her breast. "This isn't the liquor talking," I said, "and I'm not just flattering you because I'd like to get inside you in the immediate future." I brushed my thumb over her nipple, feeling it constrict under my touch. "But you have my very favorite set of tits in the world, Punky. Museum-quality."

She jerked away. "Did you really just say that?"

"Goddamn right, I did." I hoisted her up and sat her astride my hips. "They're enough to make David sport a hard-on and smack that cocky smirk off Mona Lisa's dull mug."

"How do you do that?" she asked with a sweet smile. My smile.

"Do what?"

"Be so perfect all the time. You're not living up to your reputation as an insufferable prick."

"I am that," I admitted. "And I'm not perfect." I urged her lips to mine again, kissing her softly. "I only need to be perfect for you."

"Shut up and screw me," she laughed, nipping my lip. "You've earned it." I gripped the underside of both thighs, sitting forward to lift us up. "No," she said. "Here."

I sat back, appraising her. "Here. Really?"

"Hmm-mmm." Bella kissed my jaw and traced her fingers over my shoulders. "I like it out here."

"Carlisle," I warned.

"I seriously doubt your dad is going to come looking for us," she answered.

"Can you keep your voice down?" I pinched her nipple. She yelped and the sound turned to a deep moan when I tugged on it. "That's a no." Bella was a loud lover. A fact I rather enjoyed, but my father didn't need the soundtrack. We were much closer to his bedroom out here than upstairs in one of our rooms. Although, the way sound traveled through the house, it might not matter where we were.

"I'll be good," she whispered. Bella sat back on my lap, dipping her head to flick her tongue over one of my nipples, teasing the piercing. She looked up from under lashes. My cock jerked. "Promise."

"You'll do no such thing." I tugged the sweater over her head and pulled her forward. She arched her back, shoving her tit in my mouth.

Bella writhed in my lap, grinding her hot cunt over my erection. With my right hand around her hips, I encouraged her movements. Teeth scraped the tight peak of her nipple. Her hands went to my hair, tugging and holding me there. I tended to the other breast, flicking my tongue piercing across the sensitive tip.

"Damn it, Edward."

Her hands dropped to my jeans. Impatiently, she ripped at the buttons until each one popped open. Punky's greedy fingers found my dick and pulled it free. I thrust into her hand then pushed Bella back until her feet met the floor.

"Off," I said as I snapped the elastic band of her shorts with one finger. With my left hand, I stroked my cock, appreciating the view of her pale and wonderful, half-naked in front of me.

She dropped to her knees. Oh sweet goddess of blowjobs. Bella positioned herself between my spread legs with her discarded sweater cushioning her against the wood floor. I let her tug my jeans down around my hips enough to gain unfettered access to what she wanted. Bella took hold of my dick.

"I'm not just saying this because I love you and I expect you to make me come so hard it hurts," she began. My cock twitched in her little fist. And if I had five favorite things in the world, one of them had to be the way her thumb couldn't meet her fingertips around my girth. "But you have the prettiest cock, Edward. Museum-quality."

I laughed, bowing my head. "Sweetheart, you're really something else."

"You don't know the half of it."

Bella licked over the head, swiping her tongue along the slit, and I collapsed back in the chair. My hands gripped each armrest. I engaged in a brief conversation with myself, reminding the hungrier, less civilized side not to grab the back of her head and fuck her throat. But shit, my girl really gave great head. Her tongue toyed with my piercing. Warm lips worked me over.

"Fucking Christ," I hissed as Bella pumped my cock while sucking on my nuts. She licked her way up the vein on the underside of my shaft before swallowing me whole. Forget civility.

"Look at me," I demanded. With her mouth full, Bella's eyes met mine. I wrapped my hand in her hair. "Nice and slow," I instructed. "Take all of me and keep your eyes up here."

She did as I said, sucking hard and massaging me with her tongue, slowly sliding up and down my dick. I pulled her hand off my shaft and placed it on my thigh to match the other one. Her head bobbed over my crotch, dark eyes fixed to mine. Her mouth felt fucking amazing, which was made all the more satisfying by her submissive posture.

Bella backed off to catch her breath. My dick fell from her lips. I traded my right hand into her hair, taking my cock in my left.

"You're gorgeous," I told her, and not just because she was a woman on her knees between my legs.

"I know what you want," she said.

"You."

"What you want from me," Bella answered.

"Everything."

Bella slid her arms behind her back. "Tell me you love me."

"Painfully," I confirmed. "Completely. I love you."

"Then I'm yours," she said. "I'm not embarrassed."

I moved my broken hand to run my fingertips across her cheek and along her jaw. Bella leaned into my touch, briefly closing her eyes. I cupped the side of her neck and encouraged her closer. Fisting my cock in my left hand, I slid the head across her parted lips. She maintained eye contact as I rubbed my shaft against the side of her face then back to her mouth, lightly tapping the head to her bottom lip a few times.

"Eyes on me," I reminded her again. "And you'll stop me if it's too much."

Bella nodded once. Her lips parted wider to accept my cock as I fed it to her. Slow and shallow at first, I held the back of her head to control her movements. After a moment, I brought her mouth farther down on me with every pass. Soon enough, I was hitting the back of her throat, fucking her mouth in deliberate strokes. Holding her face to my pelvis, Bella swallowed around my piece. Her throat constricted and pulsed around me, tugging on the head. I pulled her off, letting her breath.

"Shit, Bella." Any more of that and I'd come. "You feel so good, sweetheart."

I really wanted to come in her mouth. For that matter, I wanted to shoot a load all over those perfect tits and watch the thick semen slide down her flawless skin. But I only had the will to make it through one panic attack a night. For that reason, I hauled her from the floor and yanked down her shorts.

"Come here," I said while tugging her to straddle me. "Take what you need. I can hold out until you get there." At that I had plenty of practice.

Bella grabbed the back of my neck with one hand, the other fisting my cock to guide me in. I groaned and pressed my forehead to hers as she sank down, my dick prying open her tight channel. Punky was my second skin. Her pussy wrapped around my shaft, her body pressed to mine; she was my warm security blanket and suit of armor.

"Touch me," she whispered.

I complied at once. Cradling her ass in my lap with my broken hand, I moved my left between us to rub circles over her clit. Seated fully on top, Bella began to work her hips back and forth. She didn't lift up one inch, just sliding her ass across my thighs with me burrowed deep insider her warm, soft cunt, nudging and massaging her cervix.

"Edward," she whispered. "Fuck."

I found her lips, kissing her hard. I love you, they said. I worship you. You fucking own me and please don't ever take this away from me.

Bella began to bounce in my lap. I chased her lips, refusing to lose the taste of her on my tongue, the soft caress of her mouth. Gentle plunges evolved into hurried descents, her cunt dropping on my cock like an elevator snapped from its cables. Or rather, I suppose that was the other way around. Fuck it; she was incredible. Perfect.

"More," she whimpered. "I'm so close."

I grabbed her hips and held her over me, pumping into her with lustful determination. Bella's forehead fell to my shoulder and she held on. Muffled noises of anticipation were concealed behind her clenched teeth and clasped lips. I bucked harder, faster, impaling her to the hilt on every stroke. The sound of skin smacking intensified, but she still wasn't quite there.

"Hang on to me," I said.

Bella's arms closed around my neck. Hoisting us up from the chair, I took two strides and pressed her back against a pillar. Bracing her there, I swept both her legs over my arms so the underside of her knees were cradled in the bend of my elbows. With more freedom to move in this position, I slammed into her. I fucked her like the depraved animal I felt.

"This is what you make me," I grunted, stabbing her cunt quick and sharp. "This is how much I need you."

Again and again our bodies collided in a speedy rhythm. Her muscles tensed. I felt her snug hole clench around my cock. "That's it, sweetheart. Come for me. Come on fucking dick."

A tiny scream burst from her lips as I felt a hot rush of wetness soak me. The sound lasted only a split second before her teeth clamped down on my shoulder, silencing her announcement of completion. The sharp sting of pain shocked my system. I came hard, spilling inside her.

Bracing my body against Bella, her back to the pillar, I panted in exhaustion. Every muscle tingled and shook. I was barely fucking standing, so I backed up and took her with me as I fell in the chair.

"Fucking hell," I whispered. "Punky?" My hand combed through her hair. "You can let go now."

Her teeth retreated from the impression they left in my shoulder. Bella laughed a little. "Sorry."

"Don't be." I stroked my fingers up and down her spine. My dick twitched inside her. "That was fucking spectacular."

She nuzzled against my neck and ran her nose along the sweaty column, her lips leaving kisses along my throat. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I answered. And then I opened my eyes to the black spots still littering my vision. "Actually," I amended. "Yeah. Really okay."

Bella looked up. So fucking beautiful with her cheeks flushed red, her eyes sleepy, and her hair a wild mess. "You didn't have an attack."

"No."

"That's good." Her lips turned up and stopped before they revealed a full smile. As if she was reluctant to celebrate this fact. "Why not?"

"No idea," I replied. "And I'm not going to linger on the thought." I swiped my thumb over her bottom lip. "Maybe we'll just have to make love standing up from now on."

She laughed, burrowing her face against my neck. "Now I know why they call it 'the little death,'" she said. "I feel like I just got punched in the uterus."

My head fell back and I laughed with a full voice. "Goddamn, Punky. Such romance. Such poetry."

"Fuck off," she replied. "That thing needs a warning label."

"I'll do it," I told her. "I'll get a surgeon general's warning tattooed on my cock."

"Will you stop it with that?" Bella sat up, grabbing my jaw. "I like your dick just the way it is. No more ink or hardware on that part. Okay?"

"Whatever you say, sweetheart. He is your humble servant." Bella rolled her eyes. "But I am considering a tracking system of some sort," I went on. "Like tick marks. Maybe just right here above my groin," I said while looking down between us.

"For what?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"Every time I make you gush."

"On that note…" Bella raised herself from me. A rush of hot wetness washed down my cock. Punky stopped, staring at my lap. Then she was up and grabbing the sweater from the floor. "You're never getting laid again."

She tugged my sweater over her head and then bent to grab her shorts. I caught her hand, pulling her over beside me. She wouldn't look me in the eyes. "Punky," I said in a serious tone, "don't you dare. Every time we make love is the happiest moment of my whole damn life. There is nothing embarrassing between us. Remember?"

She smiled and bent to kiss me. "I'm not embarrassed," she said. "I was just in a hurry to go carve another notch in my belt." She bit her lip, rather pleased with herself.

"Run along, then." I smacked her ass as she scampered off.

Two. Not yet a trend, but more than a fluke.


	36. Chapter 36

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

_**A/N:**_Sorry it has taken so long to get this update out. Suffering a creative deficiency lately. Hopefully I won't disappoint you. As always, you all have my heartfelt thanks for following along, your reviews, and you support along the way. Thank you very much.

BIG thanks to **Hadley Hemingway** for pre-reading this and coaching me through my writer's block. You can thank her for this update.

* * *

**Chapter 36: Night Music**

**"Something big and something new, something small and something blue,"**

In the alley behind The Nest, I walked my father to Bella's car following our show. The birthday girl inside was down for an all-nighter, but jet lag had taken a toll on Carlisle.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you?" I offered.

"No need." He unlocked the car with the key fob, the headlights illuminating the small lot. "Stay and enjoy yourself."

"I'm glad you came," I told him. "Means a lot that you could see us play."

"I thoroughly enjoyed myself." Carlisle opened the passenger door and turned to face me. "Your mother would be proud to see everything you've accomplished, the way you've grown."

My eyes fell to the fascinating scuff marks on my leather boots. "Thanks."

"Edward?" He paused until I reluctantly looked up again. "If there's anything to take away from the girl you had tucked under your arm all night, it's that a passion so strong has no substitute."

Smiling, I nodded. "Yeah. I got that part figured out. I'm not letting her go. Charlie issued the requisite threat."

"I'm not talking about Bella." He slipped inside the car, lowering the window as he shut the door and started the car. "Love you, son. Be safe. I'll see you in the morning."

I took a step back as my father pulled away. In his wake, he left me perplexed. Oh, I understood his meaning just fine. Was it really so obvious?

I loved music. It was only damn thing I was good at. The band, while a necessary distraction and suitable creative outlet, wasn't a passion. Nothing against Jasper and Emmett, I loved those guys. Truthfully, no matter how much I threw myself into this little hobby, I saw it more as a stagnant, failing relationship.

She was safe, comfortable, and non-threatening. She didn't give me a hard-on when she walked in the room nor was I overcome with the irresistible urge to mount her when she slipped into bed beside me. Days were not consumed with thoughts of her to the point of obsession, infatuation. Worse, she enabled my lazy complacency rather than inspiring growth.

Well, now I just wanted to throw Punky against a wall and fucking eat her. Settle down, killer.

Such deliberations only exacerbated my headache, which now had a side of tinnitus from the amplifiers, and threw a wet blanket of self-doubt over my mood. Tonight was for Bella. Everything else could wait.

"Hey!"

Oh, fuck this shit. I spun around, glaring at the hags strutting toward me.

"I know you're the one who narced," Lauren shouted, with Jessica in tow. "My parents are trying to send me to rehab because of you."

I brushed by them and headed for the door. "Payback's a bitch, honey."

"I'm not done with you." She grabbed my arm.

I snatched it out of her hand, barely containing my urge to hit her. "We are so fucking done," I growled. "After that shit with the window—"

"What's the matter? Make a few new enemies recently?" Lauren snickered. Behind her, Jessica was conspicuously quiet.

"You come near my property or my home, I'll have you in handcuffs." I stepped closer. Close enough to ensure she felt the veracity of my words. "And, Lauren, if you ever threaten Bella again, I'll kill you."

"Lauren, please. Let's go." Jessica tugged her hand.

"You're twisted," Lauren spat as they stalked off. "You're going to get what's coming to you."

That was rich coming from a junkie who got her jollies obsessing over my girlfriend. Fuck her. I had no more room in my life for their crazy.

Inside the bar, the crowd was thick and throbbing with the humid oppression of two hundred sweaty bodies competing for a three-foot square box of personal space. I cut a line through the mass, avoiding as much as possible any brushes of contact, to our usual table where our friends were keeping Bella entertained. I arrived just in time to see Alice and Bella slam blue shots of I didn't know what.

Bella grimaced, shaking her head. "Uh," she groaned. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Tiny Tim laughed. The escaped member of Alice Cooper's sideshow took a swig of Jasper's beer.

"You trying to poison my girl?" I asked.

Bella turned around, smiling with a lopsided grin and glassy eyes. "Hi, handsome."

"Jane said it was the birthday special," Alice replied. "I thought bartenders liked you here."

Sitting down, I pulled Bella on my lap. "Save any for me?"

"None for you." She tapped my nose, blinking a lot over her dark, dilated eyes. "Someone has to get us home."

Winding my hand into her hair, I caught the back of her neck. "Just a taste then." My lips met hers. She opened for me, allowing my tongue to lick inside. "Wow," I said as I pulled away. "That's fucking awful."

Punky laughed and grabbed my glass of water. "I know, right? What did I ever do to Jane?"

"That's just her way of being friendly," I answered.

"Just so you know," Emmett said from across the table, "Bella offered to cook me dinner for a week if I spilled the beans on your gift."

"Is that so?" I looked to Punky, arching my eyebrow.

"Yeah," she said, without remorse. "And he wouldn't tell me. How's that for loyalty?"

"You already cook him dinner three times a week," Jasper said. "It's not much of a bribe."

"Speak for yourself," Emmett replied. "Sorry, Bells. Bro code."

"Screw that noise." Bella shifted in my lap and almost fell over. "I've known you longer. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Bro code?" Rose scoffed. "Really? Can we please retire the phrase with popped collars and visors?"

"Jasper?" Bella leaned across the table. Everyone reached for their drinks to save them from the incoming calamity. Trashed, she was so damn adorable. "We're tight, right? I know you like me better than Edward." She sat up abruptly, grabbing my face and staring hard. "Sorry, babe. It's true. I'm Jasper's favorite."

"I'm crushed," I mumbled with her hands squeezing my cheeks.

Back over the table she went, pleading her case. "Jazz. Listen to me. Are you listening?"

"I'm listening, doll." He sat forward, an amused expression coloring his face.

"Remember that one time?" she whispered loud enough for the entire table to comprehend.

"That one time?"

"You know."

Jasper chuckled, setting his chin on his fist. "I have no idea what you're talking about, crazy."

"Yes, you do," she insisted. "That one time."

He looked to Emmett, who stared back blankly. "Can I have a hint?"

"At the beach." Bella leaned closer. "I won't tell Edward. Just tell me what my present is."

"Bella, you've lost me."

"You saw my boobies."

Jasper's eyes shot to mine and then to Alice. I yanked Punky back over the table.

"No way!" Emmett shouted. "How did I not know about this? You sneaked a peek?"

"Shh!" Bella hissed. "It's a secret."

"Sweetheart." I caught her chin, forcing her to look at me. "You want to explain, before I reach over there and snatch Jasper's eyes out of his sockets?"

"Edward," Jasper said. "It's not like that."

"Oh no," Alice chirped. "I want to hear this." She shoved Jasper back in his chair so she could get closer.

"Spill it," I demanded.

Bella sighed dramatically. "I went to hide between the cars to change out of my swim suit and put on dry clothes. I had a towel," she added. "But, you know, it slipped." She shrugged one shoulder, her lips offering a coy smile. "Jasper happened to walk up."

"Total accident," he agreed. "I really didn't see anything."

"Uh-huh." I ran my hand up Bella's ribs, tracing my thumb under her breast. "And where was I?"

Her mouth popped open and shut again. She scrunched her face in exaggerated contemplation. "I don't remember. It was the summer before our junior year of high school."

"Can you keep a secret?" I asked. She smiled, biting her lip. Bella leaned in closer and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I pressed my lips to her ear, nipping her lobe. "I was in the car, sweetheart. Sitting in the back seat." Her hands went into my hair as my broken hand cupped her ass. "I was changing and glanced in the rearview mirror and saw you slipping that tiny bikini bottom down your legs. Got me so fucking hard, Bella."

"Edward." She writhed in my lap. My cock swelled under her ass, but I had to catch her hips to still her movements. We'd get tossed out for that shit. "Take me home," Bella whispered. The look of want on her face had me considering it.

"Uh, yeah. Hi? We're still sitting here," Rose announced.

"You have a whole house to yourselves," Alice said. "Can you please hold this table sacred?"

"And yet, I'm the pervert." Emmett threw his hands up, the rest of the group laughing.

"Bella." We both turned to see Jake standing on the other side of the railing that separated the table deck from the rest of the floor. "Just wanted to come by and say happy birthday." He glanced at me, quickly returning his attention to her. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Thank you," she said. "But I'm already getting them for free." She nodded at the group. "The band."

"Right." Jake smiled awkwardly. He looked as though he wanted to say more.

I'd done this, and it was time to grow the fuck up. "Have a seat," I offered. Bella questioned me with a look. "You here with your friends?"

"Yeah. By the bar."

"We've got room. Join us."

"Absolutely," Bella said. The others started shifting their chairs around clear some space at the table. "Bring them over here."

"Yeah. Okay." Jake gave me a nod and went back into the crowd.

Not like we were in a bromance now, but I didn't have to go out of my way to be a dick. Besides, Bella cared about Jake and I'd inadvertently fucked him over. Still had to figure out a way to put that right.

"That was totally decent of you," Alice commented.

"Thank you." Bella placed a kiss to my lips. Her eyes were soft, smiling. My smile.

"Anything. It's your night."

"So can I have my present now?"

"When we get home."

She turned to the group, a plea on her face. "Anybody?"

Silence.

"Traitors," she snapped. "All of you."

xXx

The ugly lights popped on overhead to usher the drunk and stumbling out to the pavement. In the center of the floor, Jasper and Emmett mostly worked to keep the girls upright as they danced. And Bella, well, she moved around a lot. The fact that Alice had gotten her on the floor was a miracle of modern chemistry and a testament to how hungover Punky would be in the morning.

"You know," Jake said. "Right?" He sat across the table picking at the label on his empty beer bottle.

It was just the two of us now, and I sensed a man-to-man was unfolding.

"Know what?" I asked.

"That I'm batting for the other team," he answered with a flat expression.

"Yeah. I heard." I leaned back, using Bella's straw to try and sooth the itch under my cast. "That has nothing to do with—I wasn't picking on you," I said.

"No." He smothered a smile. "I figure you like me better this way. I get it. She's not my type."

Like was a strong word. I hated him less. Maybe moved up from hate to blanket indifference.

"You were close?" I asked.

"Are close."

Okay, now I hated him a little. Whether he liked dick or not didn't seem to matter within the realm of my possessive nature toward Bella. He was still a man, still not a fan of mine.

"Help me out here. She never talked about you. I know nothing about you but, suddenly, you're back in the picture."

"I don't see how I owe you an explanation," he replied and crossed his arms.

"Listen, Jake. You and I will probably never get along. I'm good with that. But you're going to have to accept that I'm not going anywhere. Bella is my whole life. Like it or not, this is permanent."

Looking away, Jake surveyed the room. A line of patrons waiting to close out their tabs crowded the bar. A dozen more filled the hallway waiting for the bathrooms. Veiled in darkness this place was a dump. Under the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lighting, it was far less appealing.

"My dad sent me away." Jake sat rigid, his attention aimed in the distance. "That's why I left. I asked the wrong question and that was it. Called me a fag and told me to get the fuck out. He didn't have a son anymore. Sent me to live with my mom. Bella was the only one who ever called."

Of course she was. A stray kid turned away by his father? Bella to the rescue. How could anyone not love her?

"So, when you tossed her aside," he continued, "I repaid the favor."

"Whatever you think you know, Jake—"

"She protected you. Every day you ignored her and Bella called me crying, she wouldn't tell me what happened. Just because she's forgiven you, it doesn't mean I will."

Bella's eyes met mine from across the room. Her hair was a mess around her face, sweaty strands clinging to her forehead. She was stunning, perfect. A slow, sweet smile she wore only for me crossed her lips. My lips.

"I'll live." I stood, tossing a few twenties on the table. Just because we got our drinks for free, it was no reason to skimp on the tips. "You need a ride to town?"

From the corner of my eye, I spotted James headed for the back door. The redhead was with him. Vaguely, I recalled he was the blonde guy I'd seen her with the night Alice and Jasper found me post-blowjob. Definitely time to get the hell out of here. The fact that he wasn't in jail was discouraging.

"I'm good," Jake answered as he got up.

"For what it's worth," I said, offering my left hand, "thank you for being her friend when I wasn't."

He accepted the gesture reluctantly and squeezed my hand harder than necessary. "If she calls me crying—"

"Look for me to be tied to her rear bumper."

xXx

"You're enjoying this too much," Bella slurred.

I held her in my arms as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. During the ride home she'd fallen asleep and didn't wake until I carried her through the front door. By then, it was too late to protest her footless trip.

"Be nice to me," I warned. "You're completely at my mercy tonight."

"Every night," she mumbled, nuzzling her face against my neck. Goddamn, I loved this girl.

At the stop of the stairs, I nudged my bedroom door open with my foot and crossed to the bed, where I laid her down on top of the duvet.

"You want anything? Water?"

"Present." Bella sat up against the headboard. "Gimme." Like a child, she held out her arms, fingers wiggling in anticipation. Fucking adorable.

"It's not your birthday anymore." The clock on my nightstand read 3:25. "I missed the deadline. Guess you'll just have to wait until next year."

Playfully, her lips turned to a pout with big, sad eyes. "Please?"

"Ah. There it is, the magic word." I went to the closet. "Close your eyes. And don't fall asleep," I added.

The restraint she'd shown in not rummaging through my room to find the hidden gifts was commendable. When we were kids, Bella had exercised a remarkable talent for finding, opening, and then resealing Christmas presents. She was nearly impossible to surprise, the curious little thing.

"Keep them closed," I reminded her. The first gift, the recording of Bella's favorite songs I'd written, went into the CD player. I set the second one upright against the opposite side of the bed. Sitting on the edge beside her, I placed a card in Bella's hands. "Open."

She looked down, scanning the generic birthday card with a sassy raised eyebrow. "If there's a gift card in here—"

"Ingrate," I teased. "Just read it." I reached over and the flicked on bedside lamp.

"Something big and something new, something small and something blue," she read. "A riddle? Edward, I don't have the energy for a scavenger hunt." Certainly not. I didn't trust her to make it five feet under her own power. "Please tell me it isn't buried in the back yard."

"No. No digging."

With the remote, I turned on the sound system. The album began in chronological order with the first song I'd composed for her. The song I'd played for her birthday so many years ago when things were far less complicated and our lives were only supposed to get better.

Bella's expression dropped. A little crease formed between her brows, her bottom lip trembling. No. No, no, no. Not the reaction I'd aimed for.

"Sweetheart." I held her cheek, running my thumb over that delicate lip. "What's wrong?"

"You made me a CD?"

"I thought you'd like it," I hurried to explain. "I laid down your favorites. You've been asking me to play for you and..." Shit. "It's everything I've ever written for you."

Her face turned pink and tears fell to my fingers. She crawled onto my lap to burry her head against my shoulder, clinging to me.

"Don't cry, Punky. Please don't cry." I rubbed her back. What the fuck had I done wrong? And why the hell didn't someone stop me? "Say something." I pressed pause on the remote.

"No." Her head popped up. "Don't stop." Grabbing the remote, she pressed play. "It's perfect."

"Really?"

She nodded, smiling and sniffling. "I love it, Edward. It's the best thing you could have given me." Bella pressed her lips to mine; they were warm, tender, and tasted of salt. Pure panic subsided to relief and immense pride as we kissed and I realized I hadn't strung her along all day just to fuck up in epic fashion.

"I get the old and small part," she said. Bella pulled back and wiped the tears from her cheek. "Something big and blue?"

I reached to my side of the bed and grabbed the bass guitar by the neck to place in her lap.

Her eyes lit up. "Are kidding me?" Punky hugged that thing in such a way I felt a little pang of jealously. "Edward. This is—how did you know?"

"I was always watching you, Bella. I never stopped noticing." My fingers trailed the side of her face and down to her neck, brushing her hair over her shoulder. "Jasper said he'd start giving you lessons. I can teach you the basics."

Enamored, she plucked at the strings, experimenting with the steel under her fingers like I'd seen so many times at Jupiter. I wanted to share this with her, to have something we could discover together.

Those dark, gorgeous eyes looked at me with an expression I wanted to bottle and retrieve at will. I could bench press a Volkswagen on that look. "Thank you," she repeated and set the bass on the floor against the nightstand. "For everything." Her hand found mine, entwining our fingers. "Today was perfect. It means so much to me, Edward. I can't even tell you."

"You don't have to, sweetheart. I love you." I brought her fingers to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "I'm going to make it up to you—all the birthdays I wasn't the friend I should have been."

"No." Bella tugged my hand to her lap. "I don't want to play that game. We're skipping over all the bad stuff and picking up where we left off with the good parts, remember?"

"You're right," I agreed. "I'm rehabilitated from my midlife crisis and my little arsonist isn't setting anymore fires."

Punky smirked right before a yawn stretched her mouth wide. "Sorry," she laughed.

"Go ahead and get ready for bed. I'll set the alarm." Bella hesitated. She held my hand tighter when I tried to get up. "You can do this," I told her. "I'm trusting you. Get undressed. Get ready for bed. Don't touch the locks while I'm gone. When I get back, I expect to find you tucked in tight."

She took a deep breath and nodded as she released my hand. I pressed a kiss to her forehead and left her to it. I'd learned that expectations of those you love are powerful motivators and strong deterrents. To make my father proud of his son, to be a better man for the girl I cherished, I put forth a greater daily effort than I might have otherwise. I made different choices than if left to my own devices. So I hoped the same would work on Bella.

But if it didn't, I'd do my best to be what she needed. Hell, maybe she'd never get over it, push past the needs of her disorder. All I wanted was her happiness. I'd take her any way I could have her, scars and all.


	37. Chapter 37

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **This is a mini chapter, but I felt it should stand on its own. A longer chapter will likely go up later today.

* * *

**Chapter 37: Scent of Decay**

**I didn't have the maturity, strength, or wherewithal to handle something so inevitable and irreversible as death.**

Under a grey sky, I stood beside my father with Bella tucked under my arm. Below our feet, his wife, my mother, and the woman who had been Bella's sole maternal figure for the majority of her life, lay in a casket. An empty space in the ground and on the shiny black headstone awaited Carlisle.

The fragrance of lilacs permeated the air, but only because I imagined it so. For days after she was laid to rest, the thick fragrance had followed me, as if my clothes had been washed in oil extract and every surface polished with the same. Where mourners gathered at the funeral home and later here at the grave, the casket was adorned with bundles of purple. I hated the stench, was repulsed by it. To me, lilac was the scent of death. No matter how much time passed, the aroma always found me here.

No one said a word. Bella clung to me while her chest shook with the effort not to cry aloud. For her comfort or mine, I trailed my fingers up and down her arm. Carlisle held my shoulder, leaning on me as much as I needed him here to get through the grief of our melancholy vigil.

I hated every second of this. Two or three times a year—only when my father visited—we came to stare at the grave and feel the pain. I didn't see the point when the pain was so real and present inside me no matter where I stood. But every time he came home, my dad would ask me to accompany him, so of course I did.

"I miss her," Bella whispered. She'd put up a good fight, but the tears fell and a muffled sob burst from her chest. I brought her into my arms, hugging her tightly. "I miss her so much."

"I know, sweetheart." I pressed my lips to the top of her head. "I know."

Esme was the type of woman you missed, the type of mother who left a gaping, irreparable hole in her son's heart. She was the sort of vibrant spirit that was impossible to cage, harder still to rid from my consciousness.

And maybe that was the problem.

Years, I waited for the day when my body was no longer gripped by anxiety at the thought of my mother or the mention of her name. Familiar with the symptoms and already operating at a diminished capacity, I was an easy target for one more disorder piled on the heap.

Bad timing. She just happened to drop dead in my lap during the worst week of my life since she and Carlisle had brought me home. Under those circumstances, my emotions raw and tender, I didn't have the maturity, strength, or wherewithal to handle something so inevitable and irreversible as death.

Then with what excuse did I perpetuate this behavior years later? I wasn't a fucking kid anymore. I let a woman stick a piece of steel through my cock but I shriveled up into a scared, quivering, helpless little boy crying in the dark every time my mommy's death made me sad? How had I let that become my life?

A man had used and subjugated me to his sick, perverse desires. The abuse was a constant, repetitive torture from which I was powerless to escape. He made me feel disgusting, filthy. He took away the first hug my father wanted to give when he rescued me from that hell. He took away years of embraces from the man that gave me every goddamn thing I had in this life that was worth fuck all. That despicable, degenerate monster took away what should have been the best night of my life; giving myself to the girl I loved. He hurt her; he robbed her of that experience. And that shit I just couldn't tolerate.

I suffered. I ached. I battled and I fucking won. We were together now and I'd sit my happy ass in therapy until the day I could reliably worship the fuck out of Bella and hold her afterward without fighting the urge to crawl away and boil off my flesh with acid. Already I'd caught glimpses of what that looked like. The fantasy was not so unattainable as it once seemed.

Esme was everything good and nurturing and warm. I loved her. I missed her so damn much my lungs closed around the memory of her smile for fear it might escape with a breath. So why did I want to forget her? Why would I fight so hard to avoid every instance of her presence in my life?

I was doing it all backward. My whole life spent running in the wrong direction. It was high fucking time I set that shit straight. Because the only thing worse than how much it hurt to miss her would be waking up one morning to find her memory erased and my heart more empty than ever.

Later that morning, Bella and I saw my father off at the airport. In his wake, I determined to have accomplished something, to demonstrate growth, the next time we met.


	38. Chapter 38

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**A/N: **As promised, here is your full-length chapter, pre-read by the wonderful **Hadley Hemingway**. Oh, and, you know, if you're not too busy, want to hop over to **TwificFandomAwards . blogspot . com**. Also, check out the **LyricsToLife** contest. I'll be a judge.

* * *

**Chapter 38: Pretty in Sixteen Pink Candles**

**If only John Hughes was available.**

Not much headway had been made in regards to my required jazz composition. Nevertheless, I had a date with a misfit bunch of second-stringers. This time, I figured I'd try being useful and not wasting everyone's time.

"I'm going to level with you," I told the group gathered in the rehearsal room. "I've got nothing. Haven't written a damn bit of anything fit to play in days. I could hand you sheets of something I've plagiarized from myself, up the tempo to a jazz rhythm, and call it good, but that sort of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

"Wonderful," Joey groaned. "My grade rests in your hands, but you've got writer's block. This is perfect."

No love lost there. He had a point, but I still wanted to string the bass player's bow with those greasy strands of overly long black hair. Scrawny fuck got on my nerves.

"You can plagiarize yourself?" Melanie asked with a laugh. "How meta." Her hair was blue today, matching the rest of her neon outfit.

"Technically," Sarah said, "submitting a previous work by any author, including one's self, is an act of plagiarism and grounds for expulsion."

Indeed, the mousy sax player was correct. The idea was tempting, of course. I had notebooks piled up in my closet and stuffed with songs no one would recognize if I did a little tweaking. But I would know. I couldn't get up there to present a work that represented the person and artist that I was no longer. Bella would hear it right away, disappointed. Not an option.

"So here's the deal," I offered. "I'm going to write. I'm going to put something down on paper and you six are going to rip it apart. Bring in your own styles, your own tastes. Come to the next meeting with something that inspires you, and we'll keep at it until it's right. Bottom line, no matter what I give you, it's going to sound like shit if you aren't feeling it."

Looks ranging from mild interest to slight panic touched their faces. I was out of creative solutions, so this would have to do. We'd succeed or fail on our ability to collaborate. Truth be told, I needed some kind of creative kick in the ass to get the music flowing again. Seeing as how all else had failed, I turned to the island of lost musicians for help.

We spent the hour talking about a concept. A dozen shitty, been-there-done-that ideas were tossed out, each one sounding more like a theme to an underfunded '80s prom. This was only day one of the rest of our musical careers. No pressure. All we needed was a strategically placed montage to get us through the hard, tedious work of shitting brilliance. In twenty seconds or less we'd throw glitter on cardboard, hang balloons, and wrap this bitch in crepe paper just in time for curtains up.

If only John Hughes was available.

With an hour to spare before the mandated first appointment with my counselor, I headed to the student union for a bite to eat. Punky texted me just as I passed through the doors:

**I see you.**

I looked up, scanning the rotunda for a striking brunette in faded jeans and a grey hoodie. I swear my dick carried a homing beacon tuned precisely to her frequency. I spotted her through the horde, standing in line with Alice at the pita counter. Bella popped an eyebrow as I adjusted myself and walked toward her.

"Hi," she said, sliding her finger through my belt loop. "I didn't know you were so fond of pitas."

"Fond of you."

I leaned in to kiss her, pressing my half-hard cock against her stomach. Bella's lips tasted of fruity candy, gummy bears were her favorite, and got me thinking about eating a bag full—I mean committing a fucking bear massacre—off every naked inch of her body.

"Hi, Alice. Nice to see you. How's your day going? I'm great, Edward. Thanks for asking. Got a new lens for my camera today, so I'm excited to try it out. Bella—"

Releasing all but Bella's waist, I turned to Alice, who continued her one-woman conversation. I bent to press a kiss to her cheek. "Good afternoon, Tiny Tim. Lovely to see you as always."

"Well," she muttered. Alice blushed just a little as she trained her eyes on the menu board. "Yeah. Hi. Keep it in your pants, mister."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of escorting two beautiful women to lunch?"

"You're in a chipper mood," Bella answered.

"Your fault." I slipped my fingers under her sweater, tracing bare skin along her hip. "Deal with it."

"We had an exam," Alice said. "Got out early."

"I'm happy for the company."

"Don't get too excited," she replied. "This is a working lunch."

We placed our orders and took our food upstairs to my usual spot in the reading room. True to form, Alice hurried us through our meal so she could spread sheets of photo proofs on the table. I glanced at the first set. Bella's bare back, a long cape of dark hair spilling over pale skin, caught my attention. I snatched the plastic sleeve holding the little slides.

"The fuck is this?" I asked, staring at a dozen images of my Punky, half naked. "Who else has seen these?"

"No one." Alice reached for the sheet, but I protected it like Fisher Price's My First Porno. My precious. "They are just some test shots we took at my place Thursday night."

"You were supposed to watch chick movies and, I don't know, compare notes." Alice regarded me with a bored expression. "Not turn her into a spank material."

Bella grabbed my jaw, jerking my head. "'Her' is sitting right here," she said. "And I've already tried explaining to Alice that Jasper needs to consider a tongue piercing." She smirked. I wanted to bite those lips. "Besides," Bella ran her thumb over my bottom lip, so I bit that instead. "These aren't for public consumption."

"Goddamn right."

"They're for you."

"Oh yeah?" I was all ears. Well, a dick with ears.

"Yeah." She let go of my face to direct my attention back to the proofs.

"As I was saying," Alice began with a bit of annoyance. "We tested out some options with lighting, backdrops, lenses, and so on. These," she indicated another set of black and whites, "are my favorites."

I examined each tiny picture with a level of intense concentration, not unlike a fine-art restorer inpainting a Da Vinci. But the guy filling in Jesus' beard at The Last Supper probably didn't get a semi in the process. Because that would be twelve kinds of fucked up.

"They're all good," I told Alice. Looking up, I met her eyes. "Really. You've got a great eye."

She smiled at my sincere compliment. "Bella's easy," she joked. "She takes direction well."

"I just stand there." Bella sifted through the pictures. "You wouldn't know it, but I was supposedly modeling her jeans."

"What jeans?"

"See?" She bit her lip, blushing as she entwined her fingers with mine. Bella's unmarked skin against my decorated arms always fascinated me. "This is what I'm talking about," she directed at Alice.

"I know, I know." Alice winked at me. "He knows exactly what he's doing. Don't let him tell you otherwise."

I brought Bella's hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. "Don't have to try that hard," I answered. "She's already mine."

Alice sighed. "Both of you, just quit it."

Bella laughed with a sweet, adoring look for me. But see, all that did was make me want to throw her down on this sofa and fucking maul her right good.

"So what do you think?" Alice asked. Bella nodded toward her, telling me now was neither the time nor place for a cannibalistic snack.

"About what?"

"The shoot for my lookbook," she sighed like I'd missed the obvious. Yeah, guess I wasn't really paying attention. "This is the style I want to go for."

"Yeah. Great. Whatever you want," I told her. "How much?"

"For?" Alice asked.

"Prints."

"Which ones?"

"All of them. These," I said, pointing at the first set that had caught my eye, "I want transferred to canvas. Big." I had just the place for them.

Alice's lips twisted in a satisfied grin. "I'll bill you."

"And that's where you come in," I said to Reid. I closed my notebook and set it beside me on the sofa in the little office that encompassed the entirety of our relationship over the last several weeks. "It's odd, isn't it?"

"What's odd?"

I liked her new look. Rather, I liked that Reid's appearance now reflected her true personality and not a costume designed to keep me at arm's length. That felt like progress, that we trusted each other.

"I see you three times a week. You know as much about me as anyone I'm closest to, but everything I know about you lives inside this room. I can't picture you beyond the door. Like you would dematerialize if you tried to leave. In my head, you exist solely in this office, waiting for me to attend our next appointment."

"About that narcissism," she joked. I nodded, seeing her point. "I understand your meaning. We've spent a great deal of time discussing your personal relationships. Bella, your father, your friends. And yet, I've never met them. They are your reality, but to me they are like characters on a TV show I've never seen."

"Come to the showcase," I offered. "I'd like to introduce you, if that doesn't break some sort of shrink's code of ethics."

She mulled it over for only a moment. "I'd be happy to," Reid said. "After all, I'm dying to hear how it ends."

"Good." I packed my bag, checking the time on my phone. "Do you mind if I skip out a few minutes early? I've got a meeting with Professor Monroe across campus."

"Of course." She closed the cover on her tablet and stood to see me out. "One thing before you go." I paused at the door. "How are you sleeping?"

"Fine," I answered with a shrug. Her response was a dry look. "Normal." 'Fine' was no longer an acceptable answer to an honest question. "I'm taking the meds. Frankly, by the time I get home, I'm beat. Last night I almost fell asleep in my dinner."

"Okay. Constructive activities are good," she told me, "but don't overdo it. Rest is important."

"Don't worry. I've got a good doctor."

xXx

Forward momentum became my new mantra. Defying all odds and despite my best attempts at self-sabotage, my life had somehow found its way to a level of pretty damn good. I was, dare I say it, happy. But still there was ground to cover and room for improvement. Musically, that meant dismantling the routine. Like Ken Mattingly, I had to find the right sequence to squeeze every last ampere of creative energy out of myself.

During rehearsal at home that evening, the guys and I revived some of our old tunes. We hadn't played them in years and the first hour was a hot mess but, in playing we discovered nuances we hadn't noticed before and improvised a few embellishments indicative of our evolution as a band. It was … refreshing.

While Jasper and Emmett took a break, I jotted down changes in my notebook. From behind his drum kit, Emmett cleared his throat twice.

"Speak up, man." I looked up from the music stand. "What's up?"

"I wrote a song," he answered.

"Yeah? Let's see it."

He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "It's not done. Just a couple verses, chorus, a bridge that could probably be better."

"We can play around with it," Jasper offered. "Cough it up."

Emmett laid the paper out on his tom. "I wrote it for Rosie." He wouldn't look at us, absently twirling a drumstick between his fingers. "I was kinda hoping you'd help me write the lyrics?" Em looked at me with this serious, pleading expression. I wouldn't turn him down for a damn kidney if he needed it. A song for his scowling sweetheart was no big imposition.

I did find it endearing. And, honestly, a little funny. I toyed with my lip ring, trying to hold back a smirk. "Sure, Em. Whatever you need."

"What?" He asked, puzzled by my smile.

"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "I told you I'd help."

Jasper looked at me, equally amused.

"What's with the grin?"

"No grin," I shrugged, trying and failing to stow my reaction. "It's just…"

"Sweet," Jasper offered.

"Yeah. Sweet. One might say romantic."

"Cut it out," Emmett groused.

He was a thoughtful, big-hearted guy. No doubt. With Bella, he'd gladly toss his coat over a puddle, but only because he wasn't trying to get in her pants. Where sex was concerned, he tended toward the direct, no-frills approach. Here was our first glimpse at Em in love.

"Have you started picking out curtains?" I asked in the most deadpan voice I could muster. "Or given consideration to names for your children? You can name the boy after me."

"I hear June is the favored month for a wedding," Jasper added. "But you should—"

"Fuck you guys," he snapped. "You," Em pointed the drumstick at Jasper, "I hear the baby voice and cute names you use on the phone with Alice, you fucking pansy." Jasper's expression sobered. Oh really? "And you," my turn, "you sad, sad bastard. 'I'm in love with my best friend. I'm scared to tell her, so I stick a barbell through my dick. Hey, Punky. Come over here and draw all over me. I want to lay in bed licking my tattoos and pretend they're you.'"

Well, damn.

Emmett stood, glaring at us. "I know all your embarrassing secrets," he warned. "Don't test me."

"Em—"

He turned back, a big smile on his face. "Dinner's ready."

xXx

Late that night, Bella and I were sequestered at opposite ends of the house. Like me, she had a portfolio due at the end of the semester. While she worked in Carlisle's study, I returned to the garage to get started on that promised work of art that I owed to my jazz ensemble. My head hurt. That fucking incessant song wouldn't leave me alone. My hand was sore from rehearsal. Nevertheless, I ignored the multitude of excuses and sat with my notebook open on the music stand and my guitar across my lap. By 1:00 a.m. I had made some headway. Not a revelation by any means, but enough to call the evening productive.

"You don't think I can feel it when you walk into a room?" I looked over my shoulder to see Bella standing in the doorway with my TOOL sweater hanging over lean, bare legs. Lovely. "My Punky sense tingles if you leave the town limits."

Bella smiled, rolling her eyes. I used to think that move meant I was irritating her. I now realized it was a response to finding me pretty damn charming. Oh, the conversations that might have gone quite differently but for that bit of insight.

"To be clear," I said as she crossed the garage to where I sat. "I'm the turkey, right?"

"Took you long enough." She grabbed my hair, tugging my head back. "If I hit 30 before you wised up, I was going end up married to a gay man."

I slid my fingers up and down the back of her thighs, marveling at how fucking soft she felt. "As long as you were allowed a little on the side."

"You know," she said with a smirk, "Jake thinks you're hot. A little three-way action could have been an option."

I grabbed the backs of her legs, tugging her to stand between mine. "I don't share. Not even with your gay theoretical husband. No one touches you but me."

"Rawr," she answered in a teasing voice. "Tell me, caveman, what would do with me all to yourself?"

"Mmm." What wouldn't I do? "Everything, sweetheart. Fuck you to your heart's content."

"That's a start." She leaned forward, kissing along my jaw and down my neck. Bella dragged her teeth, biting lightly. "I'm here now," she whispered. "What else?"

My hands moved under her sweater to grab her ass. No shorts, just a tiny pair of black panties. "Did you come in here to seduce me?"

"Do I have to try that hard?"

"Hell no."

I stood, attacking her mouth, my hand fisted in her hair. Bella stretched on her toes to meet me. With one arm under her ass, I hoisted her up until her legs locked around my waist. We bumped into every wall and counter from the garage and past the kitchen. Damn near took a header down the stairs as I carried Bella to her room.

Inside, I threw her on the bed. She bounced, laughing. My cock strained at the image of this amazing woman spread out, waiting for me and the savage things I'd do to her.

"Show me something," I said, rubbing my throbbing erection through my jeans.

Bella reached for the bottom of the sweater, pulling it over her head to reveal a flat stomach, flawless skin, and those tits that inspired my dick to write raunchy sonnets.

I climbed over her, first tasting her lips before traveling her throat with my tongue. On 7 million separate occasions, I had fantasized about licking every fucking inch of her. Such thoughts are common hyperbole. Fuck that, I wanted to live in the literal realm.

From her shoulders, I lingered with her breasts, massaging them, sucking her tight nipples until she whimpered then biting for a scream. Bella writhed beneath me, grinding her cunt against the ridge of my cock. Now was as good a time as any.

"Come, Bella. I want you soaked by the time I get my mouth on your pussy."

"Shit, Edward. The little hair-puller tugged harder as her back arched to shove her tit in face. "I will. More."

Now it was an imperative to retain my man card that I make good on this opportunity. Manipulating the heavy flesh of one, I applied my mouth to the other. I listened to her body, alternating between hard and soft. Her noises grew louder, more desperate as I moved my attention to her other breast. With my tongue piercing, I lashed at her nipple, flicking the cold steel over the little peak. I worked on her until she was quivering beneath me.

"Oh fuck," she cried. "I—I'm—" I bit down and tugged hard. The sound from her lips was relief and frustration in one, a loud exclamation of agonizing pleasure.

Right. So maybe I padded with a bit of hyperbole. Nevertheless, I made my Punky come by tit-worship alone. Gold star achieved.

"Good girl," I whispered into the valley between her breasts as I worked my way down her abdomen.

"Uh-uh. Good boy." That made me laugh. Bella's hands lay limply on my shoulders. I tilted my head to one side then the other, kissing down her arms. There, covered that territory.

"Scoot up," I told her.

She slid up the bed to rest against the pillows, giving me room to settle between her legs. I knelt above her, holding her right leg over my shoulder to kiss a trail from ankle to thigh, repeating the path on her left.

"You having fun?"

"Very much," I mumbled against her skin. "You are literally my dream come true."

Bella looked up with a sated smile and sleepy eyes. "I love you."

"Sweetheart," I slowly peeled her panties down her legs, "I'm just getting started."

I spread her thighs to reveal the Promised Land, my goddamn birthright as far as I was concerned. She was so wet, pink flesh coated in wetness, begging for my tongue. Caesars never feasted so well. The ornately decorated halls of Persian banquets were not so tempting and delicious as Bella's warm, dripping cunt. No luckier sonofabitch ever had it this good.

I devoured that girl. My tongue stabbed shallow into her tight hole as my thumb rubbed over her swollen clit. Shoving two fingers inside, I sucked the sensitive nub, flicking my tongue piercing. Bella's nails scraped across my scalp, and I thought I might come in my fucking pants from just her needy violence.

"Get there, Punky." I pumped my fingers into her pulsing cunt, harder and faster as she moaned louder. Her hips rose off the bed. "I want you coming on my face."

Her walls clamped down. Bella's hands fisted the pillow. Her entire body jerked. Quickly, I pulled my fingers free and wrapped my mouth over her pussy, licking every drop of pure ecstasy. She bucked against my mouth, fucking my face like a wanton animal.

She exhaled an unintelligible remark as her body went limp. "I don't think I can take any more."

I sat back, lightly rubbing over her tender flesh. "Do you mean that?"

"No," she breathed. "I want a lot more."

"Good." I smacked her pussy. Bella slapped her thighs together around my hand, glaring at me. "Bend over, sweetheart. I'm going to ride the hell out of you."

"Please?" she asked with a sassy inflection. Even better.

"If I have to say please, I'm going to tie you up and spank you."

Her mouth dropped open, eyes wide. I was dead fucking serious. Only Punky got me this way. Yeah, I'd played rough with some of the others, but this girl made me unhinged. Better, I wasn't afraid to say so.

"Bella," I warned.

She took her sweet time sitting up, eyeing me all the while, like she was daring me to make good on my word. Another time. Right now, I needed inside her. With Bella on her knees, shoulders flat to the bed, I caressed her ass with one hand and pulled open my jeans with the other, shoving them down enough to free myself.

"Right here," I said, running my thumb over her pristine skin. "My teeth would look so nice."

"Keep dreaming," she teased.

"You'll cave. One of these days."

Positioned at her entrance, I held my cock in my good hand, rubbing the head through her slit. Every bit of friction against the piercing sent vibrations down my spine.

"Edward," she whimpered.

"Sorry. Getting myself all distracted."

She pushed back, seeking me out. "Don't make me beg."

I slid forward, inch by fantastic damn inch, savoring the feel of her stretching around me. With both hands, I spread her ass to watch my dick disappear inside her. Fully embedded, I flexed my hips, holding deep. Bella squeezed around my shaft like a fist.

"So good," I groaned. "Shit. You feel so—"

"Edward." Hair flipped over Punky's shoulder as she tilted her face to look at me. Her smile was playful. "Stop thinking about nailing me and do it already."

"Damn, I love you."

"I know."

I pulled out to the tip, gently sliding back in. At an easy pace, holding her hips, back and forth, I stroked myself with her warm, soft cunt. So fucking tight. Bending over her, my lips traveled Bella's shoulders and down her back. I could have kept this up all night—slow, patient, just on the razor's edge.

"Harder," she whimpered. "I want more."

But then, Punky wasn't the patient type.

Resting on my heels, I pulled her arms behind her back. I waited a moment to appreciate the sight of my girl bent over, the submissive, I liked the idea of her vulnerability. To me, from her, it meant trust. I held her wrists in my left hand and gathered the length of her hair in my right. Bella's back dipped as I pulled, forcing her head up.

"You can tell me if I go too far," I reminded her, even as my dick throbbed inside her channel.

"You can't."

I withdrew and then slammed inside with a grunt. Completely in control of her body, I impaled Bella on my cock. Harder. Faster. My pelvis battered her ass. The headboard knocked loudly against my bedroom wall. Louder still was the sound of her lusty moans. No matter that I had her nearly immobile but for my will, Bella used every bit of leverage she could find to push against me, forcing her pussy to take me deeper.

My balls tightened. I pulled out, releasing her hair to grab my cock and slap the tip against her puckered asshole. Not yet. I didn't want it to be over, to face the panic and sickness. I massaged the head over her clenched entrance. Fuck, I could only imagine how amazingly tight she'd be.

"I want to have this," I told her. "I want to come in your ass." Bella flinched. "Not tonight, sweetheart. But I'll get you there."

Leaving a kiss on her lower back, I encouraged her to roll over. She reached up to touch the side of my face as I settled on top of her.

"If you don't want to," Bella whispered, "I understand. We can stop."

"No." I kissed her palm. "I can handle it. I don't want to miss a second of anything with you."

Covering her body with mine, Bella's legs wrapped around my hips and her arms clinging to my shoulders, I made love to her. And when the memories rushed my consciousness, I let her hold me tighter until the shaking stopped.


	39. Chapter 39

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**Pre-read by Hadley Hemingway**

* * *

**Chapter 39: After the lobotomy**

**Reach in and scoop out only where the Raven made his nest.**

"What is it about that moment?" Reid had long discarded her tablet. She sat forward in the rolling leather chair, attention trained on my every frustrated, fumbling word. I wondered about her personal remarks and ruminations recorded on that device regarding my rambling reminiscing.

I could keep this up all day.

Really.

Horizontal on the sofa, I didn't look at her. My legs were too long, one elevated on the opposite armrest and my other foot touching the floor. I fought to discuss the topic while evading the memories, the psychosomatic effects. There was a water spot on the ceiling that had grown four inches in diameter during the last week.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here."

"Help me out, Edward. Explain it to me."

Eyes closed, I absently traced one finger over my eyebrow. "Fear. Panic. Revulsion. Coming feels great, yeah. Of course. But it's—it's like fudge covered in dog shit. I get the good stuff, the pleasure, but always coated in shaking, nausea, a putrid taste in the back of my throat. My entire body breaks out in cold sweats."

"And you see him?" she asked.

Through clenched teeth I answered, "Yes."

"Specific instances or a general scene?"

"Fuck." I tugged at my hair, trying to get a handle on my racing pulse. "Does it matter? What's the difference?"

"Try," she encouraged in that empathic voice.

I'd fought her on this. I had agreed to her help, but asking me to go back into those memories, to talk about him, was something I had hoped to avoid.

"Do you believe you're safe here?" Reid asked.

'Here' was irrelevant. This room or a street corner, it didn't matter. The danger lived in my head. Why wasn't there a surgery for that? Well, a surgery more precise and reliable than a lobotomy. Reach in and scoop out only where the Raven made his nest.

"I see him—you know—finishing." I hated saying the words aloud. My stomach roiled. "I make a distinction between rape and molestation. He didn't rape me. The sick fuck used me. I was a prop. Might as well have been a porno mag with hands."

"And when you've been with someone," she said, "when you're with Bella now—"

"What?" I demanded. "Ask the damn question."

"Do you see yourself as your abuser?"

"Fuck you." I jerked upright, fists clenched.

"You're angry at the insinuation?"

"Yes," I hissed. "And you're baiting me. Why?"

"I have a theory and it goes like this: You envision yourself as the victimizer. A child, impressionable, you learned to associate sexual acts involving another person as perverse, abusive. Alone, masturbating, you're not hurting anyone. But in your mind, taking pleasure from these women, from Bella, is something selfish and depraved. You think you're scarring them just as you were traumatized. What you're experiencing is post-traumatic stress, yes. More to the point, you feel guilt. Strong remorse for taking pleasure from what you perceive as Bella's pain or subjugation."

"Bullshit," I scoffed. "We have great sex. I'm not—no. Fuck that. I love her."

"You do," she agreed. "Bella knows that. Put aside logic, Edward. Your emotional responses in these situations are outside rational thinking. Consciously, you're making love with a consenting adult for mutual enjoyment. Deeper in your subconscious, where that five-year-old boy lives, he doesn't understand the difference."

Reid looked at me. I looked at the floor. It went on like that so long I forgot I hadn't responded.

"Now what?" I muttered.

"Come to terms with the disparity."

xXx

For the last forty-five minutes, Dr. Richardson had prattled on about economic disproportionality in America and its influence as reflected in popular music.

"I'm sorry," a girl on the other side of the room remarked, "but I don't get singers—like big celebrities—that write about being poor and having it so hard. I mean, hello, you're rich. What more do you want?"

"It's not like they were all born into fortunate circumstance," another classmate argued. "I mean, look at 50 Cent."

"Rap doesn't count," the girl countered.

"Excuse me?"

"What? It doesn't."

"Wow. That's not racist."

"What does that have to do with race?"

"Like all hip-hop artists are black and, therefore, grew up poor, so it's okay for them?"

"Eminem is white."

I tried not to laugh at this absurd exchange. Part of me wanted the naïve girl to try shoving that foot down her throat a little farther, if only to relieve the monotony of this class.

"Okay, moving on," Dr. Richardson said, attempting to salvage a meaningful dialogue out of the insipid comment. "Ms. Ferguson," he addressed the girl who had alienated herself. "How can we examine upward mobility in relation to evolving world views expressed through popular music?"

My phone buzzed with a text from Alice:

**Photo lab. Now. Bella needs you.**

I was out of my seat in an instant, ignoring the calls from Dr. Richardson at my back.

xXx

"Hey, Punky." She sat in the darkroom, huddled in the corner, under a drafting table. "Is there room under there for me?"

She said nothing. Illuminated by the single red bulb in the center of the ceiling, Bella sat with her knees to her chest, head resting on her folded arms. She was shaking. The anxious, terrified vibrations shattered my heart.

I crawled under the table beside her and pressed my back to the wall. "Who we hiding from?" I asked, not that I expected an answer. "Alice is gone. I think the game is over. So if you want to come out now…"

Bella had spent the entirety of class secluded here. When Alice couldn't convince her to leave, she had sent for me to coax Bella out.

"Sweetheart." I tucked Bella's hair behind her ear as I looked for just a glimpse of her face. "Talk to me."

Nothing. I waited, but the silence only served to make me feel impotent, insufficient.

"You used to let me sleep with your blanket, remember?" I let my head fall against the wall, closing my eyes. "The first time I saw you, that blanket was tangled around your arms and neck like a boa." A rainbow of pink, blue, and yellow wrapped around a tiny version of Bella. "The first time I came to you after he was done with me, you gave me the blanket and said it would protect me. Every night after that, I slept huddled in that thing like a cocoon."

Her shaking slowed, though Bella still wouldn't so much as acknowledge me. I did notice her hands, like tense claws, gripping her arms. She was fighting, silently and alone. Without me.

"Thing is," I told her, "the blanket didn't work. Just about every night it was the same thing over and over. Yarn wasn't much of a deterrent against monsters like him." I slid my hand over her thigh, squeezing her leg. "You know what did help? You did, sweetheart. In your own way, you fixed me up with my leftover pieces."

I constantly pondered what might have been if not for Bella. What might have become of me if her parents hadn't died, sending her my front door. How long would I have stayed in that foster home, subjected to a man's vile attention? Without her, my parents would have been two people living a few hours away who'd never spared a thought for this boy, alone and covered in shame. But for their influence, for Bella's friendship, I was certain to have found a quick, permanent escape from the persistent nightmare that followed long after he was gone.

"How many different ways can I say that I wouldn't be alive, if not for you? I'll never be able to square us on that one. So please, Punky. Lean on me. Fight me. Slap me. Scream and throw things. Don't shut me out. Not when I know you're suffering. It kills me."

"It's like suddenly realizing I forgot to turn off the stove," she muttered without looking up. "And then I'm picturing the entire house burning down. Only the flames find me sitting in class. Like they're licking up my legs. I know it isn't real, but it burns. I feel it searing my skin while I tell myself it's just a delusion." Bella's voice grew softer as her hands clenched, nails biting into her forearms. "I see someone inside," she continued. "And I'm not here anymore. I'm asleep in bed. I'm alone. He's coming for me and I don't—"

"You're not alone." I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling Bella against my chest. "You hear me? You're not alone. I'm right here, Punky."

Her hands fisted in my damp shirt. It was raining when I ran out of Dr. Richardson's class, leaving me soaked through and, now, sitting in the puddle dripping off my body.

"You're never going to be alone again," I whispered. "I'm not going anywhere this time. I won't leave you behind."

"How do you turn it off?" she asked.

"I don't know." I kissed the top of her head, holding her tightly. "But it starts with letting me get you out of here. You can't sit in the dark forever."

"The video," she muttered.

"What about it?"

"It's not working. That's how this started."

I pulled out my phone, bringing up the app for our security system. Frankly, I never looked at the damn thing. Sure enough, an error message popped up. Well, fuck.

"Just a glitch," I told her. "I'm sure—" I swallowed the rest. Any plausible explanation was irrelevant. No amount of empty reassurance would change the feelings of anxiety that had already taken hold in Bella's mind. "Let's go home," I offered. "It's storming like a motherfucker out there, anyway. Better to get home now before the roads flood."

xXx

"How's she doing?" Charlie asked. I stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as we spoke on the phone. Bella sat curled up on the couch in the living room, wearing my TOOL sweater and a blanket draped over her legs.

"Better now. We've got the fireplace going and she's watching TV." The microwave beeped. I pulled out the Tupperware of stuffed shells and got a couple plates from the cabinet. "I've already set the alarm and just heated up some leftovers, so we're in for the night."

"News says this storm is going to last until morning. Could get pretty rough."

"Refilled the generator last week," I assured him. Holding the phone between my ear and shoulder, I scooped two servings on our plates and grabbed utensils. "We're covered if the power goes out."

"Good, good. Call if you need anything," he replied.

I wondered if it was more or less difficult that Bella wasn't under his roof and hadn't been in a long time. He didn't have to coach her through these episodes, but he also wasn't there to offer support. For me, a third-person recap would be wholly insufficient. But then Charlie-as good and giving and loving as he was-was just a man who opened his home to an orphan based on a promise made to a dead friend. He didn't need her like I did.

"Sure thing. Have a good—"

"Edward?"

"Yeah?" I took the phone in my broken hand as I poured two sodas.

"Look, I hate to have to tell you like this."

"What is it?"

"When's the last time you spoke to Tyler?"

I knew. Whether by a universally recognizable tone in his voice or the implication of such a question, I knew before Charlie got the words out.

"Thursday night," I answered. Leaning back against the counter, I waited for confirmation. "What happened to him?"

"His parents hadn't heard from him in days. Steven," Tyler's father, "went to his apartment near campus. He found him dead in the bathtub Sunday morning. Likely been there a couple days."

"How?"

"Preliminary coroner's report says it was an overdose. Heroin."

"Okay."

"Are you going to be okay?" Charlie asked with that tone of fatherly concern. I appreciated the gesture, though I wasn't the one lying cold on a slab with track marks running up my arms.

"Yeah."

We said our stilted goodbyes and I brought dinner into the living room where Bella was flipping through the Netflix queue.

"Thank you." Bella sat forward, pulling the coffee table closer. "I could get used to you making dinner." She smiled, looking much improved. That only made this harder.

"Tyler overdosed," I told her without preamble.

"What?" She turned to face me. "On what?"

"Heroin."

"Fuck, Ty." Bella's face dropped to her hands. "Stupid sonofabitch." Yep. Pretty much. She looked up, her expression about as bewildered as I felt. "Did you know? I mean, did you suspect?"

"No," I confessed. Maybe that was the worst part. "He looked terrible the last time I saw him, but..." I ran my hand through my hair, thinking back to that night and every time Ty showed up late or not at all.

"We weren't paying attention," she stated for me. "We didn't notice because we didn't want to."

"It was easier to write him off," I agreed.

Bella's hand sought mine.

"I love you," I told her, because it seemed important to get that said.

"Do I need to tell you this isn't your fault?"

"I'm a little at fault. So are Emmett and Jasper. So are his parents. We all failed him at some point along the way."

"You're a good person, Edward." Bella wove her fingers into my hair, lightly scratching her nails down the nape of my neck. Little things like that grounded me like a bridge pylon into bedrock. "But even I don't expect you to be perfect."

"I still have to try."

xXx

Bella and I picked at dinner, both of us having lost our appetites. We fell asleep on the couch to the background noise of the TV. Thunder woke me. I looked down to see Bella's forehead pressed to my chest, her hands trapped between us and legs tangled between mine. These moments were rare. Of the two of us, she was the early riser. Not often was I afforded the chance to see her so content and peaceful, in my arms. Right where she belonged.

"You don't think I can feel you watching me?" Bella mumbled.

I kissed her head, tightening my grip around her back. Somewhere my broken hand had lost all feeling, buried deep in a crevice of this couch and never to be seen again.

"Time is it?" she asked.

I looked at the clock on the cable box. "Ten past ten. Want to go upstairs?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"You going to walk or shall I carry you?"

"You like that too much." Bella looked up, sleepy eyes and my smile. "What?"

"You're beautiful." I traced the side of her face and combed my fingers through her hair. "It hurts."

"Not your best." She blushed, smirking. "But you just woke up, so I'll take it."

"No, sweetheart. I mean you're so lovely, I ache."

"You're ridiculous." She rolled her eyes. Good start.

"I look at you," I told her softly, "and my balls—"

"Oh, shut up," she laughed, smothering me with her palm. "You're terrible."

Kissing her hand, I nipped at the pad of her thumb. "You love it."

"Love you." Bella offered her lips, which I took as my reward for making her laugh. "Come on." She sat up, tugging my good hand to pry me from the leather upholstery. "Take me to bed before I really wake up."

We shut everything off downstairs among flashes of lightning and rain battering the windows. Thunder shook the house as Bella and I slipped into my bed. I tucked my broken hand under her pillow—apparently I had a nasty habit of flipping over during the night and smacking her with my cast—and brought her against my chest, chin resting on her head.

"Did Charlie say anything about a funeral?" Bella asked. Her fingers traced the patterns down my arm.

"No."

"I'll call his parents tomorrow," she said. "See if Emmett and Jasper can meet us for lunch. We'll tell them together."

"Okay."

Truth was, I hardly felt right about attending his funeral. After all, we weren't that close before I kicked him out of the band. We played together, drank together, but that was it. He wasn't the brother that Emmett had been since high school. Tyler and I didn't have the sort of friendly, combative rivalry that I enjoyed with Jasper. We didn't share conversations any deeper than set lists and pussy. I guess the hardest part to reconcile was that a man was dead and I didn't have any stake in the tragedy. Like I was expected to feel something, but the foundation to now mourn him had never been laid.

That begged more questions, of course. Tyler spent four nights a week with the band. So if we weren't his best friends, who were? And what was it he wanted to say before he lost his nerve?

"It's okay," Bella whispered against my neck.

"Hmm?"

"You think you should feel a certain way and you don't. It's okay, Edward. Don't dwell on it."

"Thank you."

xXx

My eyes snapped open. Not a dazed, subtle coming to, but immediate consciousness. I looked down to see Bella curled against me, her chest rising and falling with gentle breaths and one arm draped over my stomach. Outside, the storm raged on. Wind howled through the trees in a wild song as rain battered the glass.

Thunder, perhaps. That might have woken me. Then I looked to the nightstand to see the digital clock was dark. The power was out. It might have been the air conditioner shutting down or the generator kicking on that alerted me. Satisfied, I closed my eyes.

Under the noise of the storm outside, I became aware of a hissing sound—long, consistent. I counted the seconds, fifteen, and then it stopped. Again I heard it, and it sounded as if it were traveling.

A series of clicks.

My body tensed.

My heart beat faster.

In an instant my vision narrowed in the darkness and my senses focused.

Protect her.


	40. Chapter 40

_Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended._

**Pre-read by Hadley Hemingway**

* * *

**Chapter 40: Disposable **

**"You're my fucking hero."**

I had considered such a scenario numerous times. Charlie had trained and armed me for exactly this circumstance. In my mind, the unlikely event of a break-in had always felt like a foregone conclusion. Inevitable. I suppose that made me a pessimist. It was as if Bella, and I by extension, had been tagged and identified for this eventuality. Despite that certainty, I stood over Bella's sleeping form gripped by anxiety. But panic and doubt were not luxuries I could afford at the moment.

Protect Bella. Stow the nerves and lock that shit down.

Having pulled on a pair of jeans and removed my pistol from the lock box in the nightstand, I grabbed Bella's sweater from the floor. Leaning over her, I brushed my fingers across her cheek.

"Bella. Wake up."

Her eyes moved behind their lids. Her breathing stuttered.

"Bella. You need to get up."

She blinked, face scrunching as she came to. Her questioning eyes surveyed me crouched at the side of the bed. Bella opened her mouth to speak and I placed my palm over her lips, laying the sweater beside her.

"Don't speak. Don't argue. Get in the back of my closet. Call Charlie. Stay there."

She shot upright, yanking my hand from her mouth. I took her face between my palms.

"There's someone downstairs. I'm going down. You're staying here. Call Charlie. Stay very quiet. Do not come out no matter what you hear."

"No, Edward," she pleaded in a panicked whisper, grabbing at my wrists. "Don't go down there."

"Put this on." I shoved the sweater at her. "Now," I demanded when she hesitated.

She pulled it over her head, climbing out bed. "Please," she begged. "Stay."

"The storm has gotten worse," I said. She glanced at the windows, beyond which the battering wind and thunder accompanied a barrage of heavy rain. "We don't know how bad the roads are or how long it will take Charlie to get his officers here. The security lights are out. That means the generator isn't running. It isn't a coincidence."

"But—"

"Don't," I insisted, placing my cell phone in her hand. My course was set.

I pushed her toward the closet and into the darkest corner under my hanging shirts. Kneeling, I pressed my lips to hers. "I love you. I promise, Punky. I'll come back."

Prying her hands from mine, I stepped away, ignoring her pleas and closing the door behind me to encase her in protective darkness.

Unable to keep a sturdy grip on the gun in my broken hand, I held it with my left as I crept out of my bedroom and locked the door from the inside. Below, the intermittent hissing noise continued. Careful to remain silent, I descended the stairs. Near the bottom, I paused and noticed a dark, contiguous line drawn across the front door and windows. It continued through the foyer and, as I peeked around the corner, into the kitchen and living room. The smell hit me next. Spray paint.

There, standing at the sliding glass door to the back porch and desecrating my home, stood a person dressed in black with his back to me. I released the gun's safety and moved closer, within fifty feet of the intruder. Gun raised, I aimed for the torso, unable to count on my aim left-handed.

"Turn around," I ordered.

He dropped his hand. In it, a can of spray paint.

"I'm armed and I will shoot. Turn around."

Seconds passed without an acknowledgement. My finger slid to the trigger. He pivoted to the right, face hidden in shadow under a hooded sweater.

"Get on the ground."

He reached up.

I cocked the weapon.

"Easy, Killer." Behind me, another man I hadn't accounted for. "Go ahead and put that down."

The target in front of me pulled down his hood to reveal a tight bun of red hair. Not a man, but a redheaded woman who I'd once had bent over my bed.

"Ain't that a kick in the pants," the man behind me stated. "You know, I almost feel bad about the paint. You've got a nice place here. But she was insistent. Far be it from me to stifle her creative expression and all that."

She smiled, shaking the can that created the clicking sound I'd heard from upstairs.

"Gun down," he repeated. At the base of my skull I felt the cold steel of a small-caliber barrel. "Pretty please."

"You shoot me, I shoot her. I don't really see the incentive," I replied.

"True. But what happens to your honey upstairs when I'm the one left standing?"

My jaw clenched. Rage seeped into my blood.

"She's cute," he added.

Fighting the urge make a fatal mistake, I slowly lowered the gun. If he'd wanted me dead, he wouldn't have waited for me to come to him. This wasn't about my life, just revenge.

"Release the hammer," he ordered. I complied and turned around to see James with his pistol staring me in the face. "See, now we're being civilized," he said in a mocking tone. "Hand it over." I didn't move. "I don't want to kill you, so don't press me."

"The police are on their way," I told him, placing the gun on the floor. He stooped to pick it up, shoving the barrel down the front of his pants. "Your best shot is to leave now and run as far as you can."

The city police obviously hadn't found enough to charge James, but it was only a matter of time before he got picked up on something, now that he was on their radar.

"You had your fun. I'll let you walk out the front door." Bella's safety was more important than the vandalized walls. She was irreplaceable.

"You know, you're right." He looked to the redhead behind me. "This was sort of fun."

"Told you," she remarked.

"But I didn't come to trash the place." Circling me, James moved to lean against the wall, finger on the trigger. "You've created some trouble for me. I can't get within a half-mile of that campus or I'll have cops crawling all over my ass. That severely cuts into my sales. With so much heat on me, I can't do business as usual. So," he said with a shrug, "we have a problem."

"You want money," I surmised.

He smiled, seemingly relieved. "That's all. This one—I understand you've met—mentioned you had this big, fancy place sitting all by itself. Said you were loaded. And I figured, well, let's pay him a visit. I'm inclined to take you up on your offer. I'll pick up and move on. Get out of your hair. Tap a new market. All I need is a little scratch for the road. Then we're square and no one gets hurt."

"What, you want me to write you a check?"

He sighed, grimacing. I saw a flash of something in James' eyes, something that suggested he wasn't the docile creature he had presented thus far.

"There's a safe in the office down the hall," he said, pointing the pistol in that direction. "I'll take what's inside. If that's not enough," he clicked his tongue between his teeth and shook his head. "Then we have a big problem." Because shoving a grand piano in the back of whatever piece of shit he'd driven up here wasn't a practical option.

I looked at the redhead, Victoria. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why. What had possessed her to offer me up as an ATM? What was her investment in this heist? And fuck me for being so careless and naïve as to let this bitch sleep in my home. Rather, snoop around my house while I slept.

James was right, of course. There was a safe behind my father's desk that held passports, birth certificates, deeds, insurance documents, and $50,000 in cash. The money was an emergency fund for an unforeseen catastrophe like the one standing in my living room.

"Why?" I asked, addressing her. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Let's skip the drama," James said.

"No. You can have your money, but I want an answer." I looked to James and his bored expression. "Yes, I fucked you over because you deserved it. You know one of your valued customers died last weekend?"

"Recreational hazard," he replied. "I don't stick the needles in their arms."

"Tell me," I demanded of Victoria. I wouldn't forget the name again.

"Because you treated me like garbage," she seethed. "You used me."

"No way," I argued, incensed at the accusation. That wasn't me at all. Never. "I didn't force myself on you. You couldn't wait to get on your knees for me."

"You didn't remember my name," she accused. "But I thought you'd at least remember my face."

Confused, I stared at her. I did remember her face. At least twice since that night I'd recognized her at The Nest. "You knew the deal. You expected me to what, buy you a drink the next weekend, sit and chat?" My manners had receded. Why be polite during an extortion?

"How many times have I been in this house? How many times have we fucked?"

"What? Once. I—"

"Wrong," she shouted. "Twice. Two more out back in your car. At first, I thought it was a game. Let's play strangers. Then I realized. You're a bastard," she yelled. "You use women and throw them away. We're objects to you."

Victoria hurled the paint can across the room. A crystal plate, a gift from Carlisle to my mom, fell from the armoire and shattered on the wood floor.

"Do you have any idea what that feels like?" she screamed. "How filthy and worthless? It's easy for you. I'm just a slut you can use to get your rocks off. I don't have feelings. I'm not a person. Yeah," she seethed, "I wanted it. Wanted you. I have a right to enjoy sex, but you made me regret it. And now you need to pay."

Yes. In fact, I knew exactly what it meant to realize you were only a means to an end, insignificant. My involvement with these women-Victoria, Tanya, and others like them-were emotionless, detached encounters. For me, at least. It never occurred to me that I was inflicting damage. But consent didn't imply enjoyment.

It was then that I noticed the scrawl on the far wall: "BASTARD" written in red spray paint. She'd smashed out Bella's window. Not an attack on Punky, but a message to me. Unwittingly, that act had precipitated this shitstorm.

"Do it, James." She stepped forward.

"Vicky," he warned.

"Kill him," she demanded. "Fuck the money."

"We talked about this," he said.

"I want him dead. He made me feel cheap, disgusting. He doesn't deserve to walk away."

"Shut up," James shouted. I felt her moving behind me, coming closer, but I kept my eyes on the gun aimed at my head. "Walk," he ordered. "No more stalling. Get the money."

It was a twenty-minute trip here from Charlie's house driving the limit in good weather, fifteen taking the soft shoulders and curves at higher speeds. But the weather was an unknown variable.

With James and Victoria following behind, I crossed past the kitchen and down the hallway to my father's study.

Perhaps James didn't want a murder warrant chasing him across state lines. A little B&E or burglary, those were minor and not enough incentive for tracking him too far if James made it out of here. All he wanted was the cash, but would Victoria let it end at that? She was certifiable, no doubt. Stable people didn't act this way. So how far was she prepared to go with her own two hands if James didn't let her have her way?

I approached the desk. Behind it, set into a bookcase, was the small safe. My parents' wedding anniversary was the combination.

"Open it," James ordered. I glanced out the window at nothing but darkness and strands of rain spilling down the glass. "Now."

I spun the wheel. It clicked, releasing the lock. On top of manila envelopes and file folders, four bank deposit bags held the cash. I tossed them on the desk, eyeing James with Victoria at his side.

"There, fifty thousand. Take it and go."

"Check it," James said to her. Victoria unzipped each bag, pulling out wrapped stacks and flipping through the bills with a cursory glance. "Good enough."

From his pocket, James withdrew a crumpled trash bag. He dumped the cash inside, leaving the bank bags empty on the desk.

"See? That was easy," he said with a cruel smirk.

James slid his pistol behind his back. Then he pulled out my Beretta, pointed it at Victoria's head, and fired. The sound ricocheted off the walls and hardwood floors, piercing through the background noise of the storm. I flinched, the sound so loud it seemed to rattle my teeth. She went over like a stiff, lifeless mannequin, collapsing to the floor by the momentum of the bullet entering her temple.

He didn't even look at her, eyes trained on me. "I travel light," he said by way of an explanation. "Might have saved your life. She really wanted you dead."

"So you kill her with my gun," I answered without inflection. I was stunned, feeling nothing but shock.

"She broke in. It's justified. No harm, no foul." He released the clip and cleared the chamber, then popped each remaining round to the floor, tossing the empty pistol on the desk. "We're done here."

I knew every noise this house was capable of making. Sound traveled through these halls clearly. When I heard the almost imperceptible creak, I had only seconds to act. James turned his back to me, heading for the study door. At the threshold, the barrel of a hunting rifle appeared, then Bella behind it. James' hand went for the pistol at his back. I lunged at him, knocking him to the floor.

Face down, James tried to buck me off, struggling to reach for the weapon. I slammed his head to the floor, giving me the opening I needed to grab the pistol from his waistband. I looked up. Bella stood with the unloaded rifle pointed at us.

"Close your eyes," I told her.

She backed out of the room and disappeared around the corner. I stood, cocked the weapon, and fired a single shot through the back of James' skull.

After clearing the weapon, I tossed it to the desk. In the hall, I found Bella sitting with her back to the wall, clutching the rifle. I pried it from her hands and slid it across the floor.

"Sweetheart?" Kneeling, I took her face in my hands. She stared at me, her eyes focused and face expressionless.

"I always knew it was there," she answered, referring to the rifle I thought had been a secret since the day Charlie stashed it in the foyer closet.

"Did you know it's unloaded?"

"Yeah."

"Come here." I sat back, bringing her into my lap and hugging her to my chest. "You never fucking listen to me," I said. Though she was perfectly calm, I felt my muscles tremble. "You're so goddamn stubborn."

"I couldn't let them hurt you," she whispered.

"I'm so proud of you, Punky. I love you. So much. You're my fucking hero."

We stayed like that, clutching one another twenty feet from two dead bodies, until shouting, a dozen rushing footsteps, and the glow of flashlights preceded Charlie and four other officers down the dark hallway.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: This isn't the end. Remember that. **

* * *

**Chapter 41: Don't let it be over**

**Funny how a home invasion and double homicide didn't rank among the most pressing of my many issues**

"And that's what you told the police?" Reid sat back, ever planted in the same leather chair with her tablet on her lap and suspicions behind her eyes. I couldn't decide if the consistency was reassuring or it pissed me off.

"That's how it happened." I rolled a quarter between four fingers on my right hand, rehabilitating my dexterity now that the cast was off.

"That's the first time you've lied to me," she accused.

I watched the coin travel over the hurdles. She wouldn't get a confession and I wouldn't argue the point. My reasons were my own. Either way, the validity was irrelevant.

"Don't do it again, Edward."

I understood Reid taking offense to my obstruction of our honest rapport. Helpful as she'd been thus far—I'd grown to trust her, appreciate her insights—she didn't rank at the top of my loyalties. A few weeks of discussion didn't compare to a lifetime of companionship.

"The specifics are not your concern," I responded. "The important take-away is that Punky needed me and I delivered. No charges were filed."

Reid met my obstinate behavior with a flat expression. She wouldn't forgive this transgression easily. Problem was, I didn't care. Reid seemed to get that. Shifting gears, she redirected the conversation.

"You took some time off from school," she prompted me.

"We did," I answered. "A week. Canceled the band's next gig. It was too much to think about. I was overwhelmed. Besides, I couldn't stand being away from Bella all day. Fortunate timing."

The Nest was raided days later, a coordinated effort between city and campus police. Turned out Marcus was laundering money for the bikers that regularly occupied the reserved tables next to ours and were associates of James'. He must have known the bust was imminent, precipitating his attempt to extort me and skip town, leaving them to holding the bag. More than a dozen arrests were made on campus. Lauren and Jessica were picked up buying Oxycontin from an undercover officer of the campus police.

"Bella got worse before she got better," I began. "She wasn't afraid, exactly. More like a live wire jumping on the pavement, shooting sparks. She had all this energy and nowhere to ground it. She didn't sleep, so neither did I. I would distract her, entertain her until she got sick of being babysat and shoved me in the garage. So I wrote and she drew. Even when we were still pretending to hate each other, I never saw so little of her."

"That disappointed you," Reid surmised.

"Yeah, it did. I expected her to lean on me, crack and let me put her back together. I was prepared for her to completely break down. I offered to rent an apartment in the city or move us into a hotel for a while. She flat-out refused. Bella seemed to pretty much have it together while I was left…"

"What?"

"Feeling unnecessary."

My head dropped to the back of the couch as I stared at the new ceiling tile that was two shades whiter than those around it. I'd thought that water spot would be my undoing, so I'd insisted the receptionist at the student counseling center call someone in to fix that shit.

"We stopped having sex," I admitted. I ran both hands through my hair, thinking back to the sense of isolation I'd felt.

Following the ordeal, which seemed an insufficient descriptor, I called my father at 7:00 a.m. eastern. He was standing in our defiled living room my 4:00 p.m. local time. Charlie took up residence for the week in Bella's room while she moved into mine. Emmett, Rose, Jasper, and Alice traded alternating shifts living on our couch. They got tired of driving and basically camped out in our living room for the second week.

Our house was a disaster. Red paint scarred every wall from the front door to the porch. The living room got the worst of it. Every stick of furniture was replaced. One by one, the little touches my mother had brought into our home were hauled outside to a rented truck bound for the dump. Decorations and throw pillows were tossed in trash bags.

The mess was easily treated. A few gallons of paint and primer and a check from the insurance company made it all go away. Like the twin bloodstains in my father's study. Jacob even brought over a small army of his friends from the reservation to help with the rehab. That wasn't fucking awkward.

"I think we said three words to each other the whole time," I told Reid.

"Bella?"

"Huh? No. Jacob. Keep up."

"Think out loud and I'll do my best."

Oh. Right. I did that a lot lately. "Most of our interaction took place in uncomfortable silences."

Reid glanced at the clock on the desk beside her. I rubbed at my eyebrow. Somewhere along the way I'd learned to read her mind, and she mine. We'd spent entirely too much time together.

"Why are you stalling?" She asked. Sure, now she'd learned to be direct.

"Am I boring you?"

"Actually, yes. You don't want to talk about that night, fine. You're right; it isn't pertinent to our mission. So tell me something that does matter."

"I'm not sure I like your tone," I teased. Reid smiled the way she did when she didn't want to find me charming. "Skipping ahead?"

"I want to discuss anything you feel is relevant."

Funny how a home invasion and double homicide didn't rank among the most pressing of my many issues. Only a footnote at the bottom of the page. An occurrence that would have forever altered the axis of another's orbit had only caused a brief disturbance in mine. And thinking that way only depressed the hell out of me.

"It's okay to say you enjoy hearing about my sex life," I responded. Today's session had been heavy. I needed a reprieve, to decompress, because it was only going to get worse before I wound down the clock.

"You have no idea how far off base you are," she answered.

"Oh really?" That got my attention.

"Should we have a long and involved discussion about your avoidance tactics next?"

"Pass," I replied with a groan. I couldn't handle a dressing down today. "I'm still fragile."

"Whenever you're ready."

"She didn't seem to need me." The first couple of days were the closest I'd ever felt to Bella. We hardly went ten minutes that I wasn't holding her hand, had my arms around her, or her body warm and secure in my bed. Days passed, and it seemed a shift had occurred while I wasn't looking.

xXx

"Go relax," I offered. Bella stood at the sink, cleaning up after dinner. "I'll take care of this."

"No. I can do it. Go make sure Alice isn't trying to seduce Carlisle."

I laughed, peering into the living room where the macabre munchkin was talking my dad's ear off. They were fast friends, of course. I'd thoroughly tested the hypothesis and found that it was impossible not to love a Tiny Tim. She was still fucking irritating, but that was all part of her charm.

"I wish you wouldn't do all this," I said. Bella had cooked every night since the break-in, refusing to let me order pizza. When I offered to cook, she damn near took my head off. "You're running yourself into the ground." I wrapped my arms around her waist, brushing my fingertips across her stomach. "I'm worried about you, sweetheart."

"Edward." She set the dish down and turned on me. "Stop. No more hovering. You're driving me insane. Charlie's breathing down my neck, Carlisle is pushing pills on me. I don't need another dad. Please," she said with a sigh that might as well as been a smack to the face, "leave me to it and find something else to do."

I could have taken that better. I should have. Instead, I stormed into the garage like a royal fucking prick and proceeded to bash on Emmett's drums like they'd insulted my mother.

"Hey, hey!" Emmett shouted above the noise after I'd been at it for over an hour, "you break it you bought it, brother." He and Jasper shut the door behind them as they stepped into my angry cave.

"Bill me."

I kept at it, hitting the tom harder. I beat on that thing, kicked the shit out of it. Then the drumstick went right through the head.

"Motherfucker!" I hurled the stick at the garage door, where it snapped and fell to the floor. Surveying the result, I felt like a teething child. "Shit, Em. I'm sorry. I'll replace it."

"Eh, screw the kit. What's with you?" He took a seat on Jasper's bass amp, hands folded in his lap.

Jazz grabbed the stool, giving me a good once-over. "You want to talk?"

"What am I doing wrong?" I asked, looking at the hole that encompassed my impotent frustration.

"For starters," Em said, "you're hitting it too hard. And you're supposed to hold the stick at an angle. Like this." Emmett held up his hands.

I was struck by the incongruity or too exhausted from stress. In either case, I laughed hysterically. One of those sudden, surprising laughs that begins as a chuckle and builds exponentially until your stomach hurts and you might toss your cookies if it doesn't end.

"What?" He asked, catching some of my delirium and laughing with a confused expression that said he had no clue what had come over us.

"Nothing," I answered. "You're right. Poor technique."

"So why were you bullying my drum?"

"Not for the first time," I admitted, "but I've got no clue what's going on in her head."

"Bella."

"Yeah. She's all warm and cuddly, then I open my mouth and she snaps at me. I mean, I get it. She has every right to lash out and lose her shit. That's fine. I don't mind. It's just—what the fuck, you know? I'm trying to be supportive. Why is she shoving me away?"

They were quiet for a long time. Dread welled up in my chest as I expected one to say something I didn't want to hear.

"I forget that you didn't see what she was like back then," Jasper answered.

"Wow. Okay. Right for the jugular."

"Don't take it like that. I mean that Bella deals with things in her own way. Give her some time. You're doing fine," he assured me.

"Doesn't feel fine." It felt like every day she was slipping farther away. The more I tried to hold on, be attentive, the more she retreated.

"We'll tell you if you're fucking up."

"Why'd you stop?" Alice appeared like the fluttering little sprite she was. "It was just getting good."

"What do you want, Tiny?"

"Did you know your dad has never seen Labyrinth?" Huh. No, actually. I didn't know that. "Neither has Charlie. We're going to watch."

"Start without me."

"You sure?" Jasper asked.

"Yeah. I'll be there in a minute."

They left me to my thoughts, which were nothing positive. Then round two arrived. Some time later, my father walked in to find I hadn't moved a muscle.

"Would you believe I'm too scared to go in there?" I asked.

He approached me, taking to the stool that would hence forth be known as the What's Wrong With You? Throne.

"Yes," he answered. "And then I'd ask why."

"She's frightening," I joked. Really though, Punky terrified me. "I feel like I made a huge mistake, except I retrace my steps and come to the conclusion I'd do it again just the same. So why am I being punished?"

"The first step is to correct your analysis," he told me. The tone reminded me of times spent at the dining room table when my dad patiently explained to me why seven divided by the square root of X would never equal purple. Or some such shit. "I find it unlikely that Bella would feel the need to punish you for recent events."

"Maybe she should."

"Why is that?"

Oh, fuck it. "I slept with that woman," I answered. Looking my father in the eyes, I told him the truth. His son was a despicable bastard. "No," I corrected, deleting the glossy finish on the euphemism, "I fucked her. Four times, apparently. Didn't remember. So I break James' business model and she leads him here. I did this."

"Son, listen to me."

He stood, and the man before me had never looked so little like the patient, gentle, coddling man I'd known as my father. His demeanor changed to something I would have avoided at all cost had he ever thoroughly punished me a day in my life.

"Did you cause this woman harm? Perhaps. And you shouldn't dismiss that concern. Guilt can be healthy. It teaches us what behavior to avoid in the future. It rights our trajectory. But succumbing to remorse rather than learning from it is a fruitless endeavor. It's a bottomless pit, Edward. Frankly, it's beneath you."

Oh, but it was so easy. Such an attractive state of being when light turned to dark and feeling good became nails on a chalkboard.

"Did you spend even one second under the misconception that what that man did to you was your fault?"

"What?" My fists clenched. "What did you just say?" Because surely I'd misheard Carlisle.

"Did you," he repeated, "ever operate under the misguided belief that you deserved to be abused?"

"Fuck you," I shouted. I shot to my feet, smashing my cast against the cymbal. Pacing, I tugged at my hair. "I can't—I can't fucking believe you'd say that to me. What the fuck is wrong with you?" I wanted to hit. I wanted to hurt him.

"This is not your fault," he yelled. The sound was all wrong coming from him. "Whatever that woman's feelings toward you, whatever your involvement, she lost the right to make you the bad guy when she invaded your home and brought that man inside. We are not responsible for the violent, unpredictable behavior of others."

I kicked something, whatever was in my way at the time. "I should have been more careful. I have a responsibility to Bella. What the fuck was I thinking brining women here?"

"Does it matter?"

I came upright, astounded yet again. "Yes!"

"Is there a danger of a repeat performance? Will you make such a mistake again?"

"No. Fuck. Of course not. Bella and I—"

"Exactly, Edward. You love her. You'll do everything possible to support and protect her. You made a sacrifice for Bella. She doesn't blame you for anything."

"Wait. She's talked to you? What does she mean that you've been pushing pills on her?"

"Yes, we've spoken. I understand she hasn't been sleeping. I prescribed something and I'd like you make sure she's taking it."

"Damn it, dad. Don't do that. Don't go behind my back."

"With all due respect, Bella was my patient before you became my son. Her health isn't dependent on your permission."

Right. Get a grip. "I'm sorry." I sat down, taking a few deep breaths. "You're right. I'm edgy. I know. I have a headache—"

"You haven't been sleeping, either."

"I'll sleep when she does."

"And Bella tells me that you get a lot of headaches lately. I'd feel better if you saw a physician."

"It's nothing," I assured him. "Stress."

"Edward, please."

Meeting his eyes, I knew better than to argue. "I will. Yes."

xXx

Bella was quiet during dinner. The cavalry had departed, leaving us in a cosmetically better state. Deeper, I felt the rift widening.

Without the commotion of a full house, her silence was more noticeable. Maybe that was the problem. Had I missed something? Was it too soon? Three weeks had passed and Bella talked to me less and less.

What if she wanted out, but didn't want to have the talk while our friends and family were camped out all over the house? I began ponder a life where Punky no longer trusted me, couldn't forgive me, and stated once and for all that she wanted nothing to do with me. Then I ran through a thousand permutations of groveling, kidnapping, and finally drinking myself into an early grave.

"Thank you for cooking," I said. Great start. Fucking imbecile.

She didn't respond. Bella stood and took her plate to the sink. I followed over the eggshells blindfolded.

"Let me," I offered, taking the dish from her hands. She yanked it back. "Bella?"

"I'll do it." Turning on the faucet, she proceeded to scrub like she would score a hole through the thing. "What?" she snapped.

"What's wrong?"

"Fuck you."

"Shit, Bella. I'm trying. What do you want from me? I'm not capable of ignoring you."

"Nothing," she hissed. "Leave me alone."

I grabbed the dish. She wouldn't let go. We struggled over the stupid thing until it shattered in the sink.

"There, asshole. You happy?" She stomped off toward the stairs.

No. Among my emotions, happiness was absent.

"Say it," I shouted at her back. "Say the words, Bella."

"Go to hell."

"That'd be an improvement."

She spun around, glaring rage and fire and scorched earth. No one else had the power to make me feel three inches tall. This woman could break me with a look, a word. And if she intended to do so, better it was done quickly.

"What do you want me to say, Edward?"

"The truth, damn it." I gripped the edge of the counter so hard I might have set my healing hand back two weeks. "I can't do it anymore. I can't live like this."

Bella stared at me from across the room, unmoving. Not even a blink.

"Please," I said.

"You can't," she muttered.

"It's killing me."

"Okay." Her reply was so quiet I almost didn't hear it. "I'll be out by morning."

She disappeared upstairs. She left me. My chin dropped to my chest as my heart sank down the garbage disposal.

I was an idiot for breathing all those years, Bella right there in the next room, and thinking that was what losing her felt like. Watching another man touch her, finding some dipshit sticking it to her, all the days I wanted to drop to my knees for her—that was fucking paradise.

This, right here, was agony. This was having a ballpeen hammer taken to each finger, ripping my nails out with pliers, tiny stabs to my arteries with an icepick so I'd feel every second of my long death as I slowly bled out.

I snapped. I'd never had one before—was probably way past due. My behavior in the next minutes could only be described as a psychotic break. A broken heart seemed insufficient cause, unless you loved Punky. She'd always made me crazy. This time I lept right over the edge.

I destroyed it. Everything. Weeks to put the house in order and I wrecked it good. One deep breath and I blew that fucker down.

I covered the kitchen in broken glass and ceramic shards. Bit by bit, I smashed anything insight, anything I could throw. I hurled my broken fist at the refrigerator door until my knuckles bled. Then I got a really stupid idea.

In a fury, I kicked open the door to the dark tomb on a mission to ruin. I hovered over the piano. Until now, I thought it was the thing I feared most. The bench was over my head and ready to come crashing down.

"Goddamn it!"

I slammed it down, filling the room with the deafening sound of my pathetic impotence. The legs hit the floor and my ass met the cushion.

Fingers to the keys, the melody came effortlessly. Easier than breathing. Like my heartbeat. I closed my eyes and let the notes slide down my arm, into my piano.

"What are doing in here?"

I didn't look. Nothing good was back there.

"Edward."

Hanging around to drive the knife a little deeper, huh? No thanks.

"Why are you playing that song?"

"Because everything I love is dead," I muttered.

"Stop," she said. I took it like a yellow traffic sign. More of a suggestion than strict demand. "Stop it."

"No."

"Damn it, Edward. Enough." She strode over and slammed the lid down. That woke me up.

"Don't you fucking touch it," I yelled. "Don't you dare. It's all I have left. This one thing you aren't allowed to take away."

"No," she shouted. "Fuck you. You don't get to pull this shit, sit in here and play the brokenhearted. You don't get to play this song and act like I'm the one who gave up."

My fingers banged the key, producing a sound that more accurately described my current state.

"I love you," I yelled. "I've always loved you, Punky. What more can I offer? I'm sorry." I fell to my knees, grabbing her hands. "I'm sorry, Bella. I tried to be what you needed. I've never tried so hard at anything in my life. Why can't you see that I'm nothing without you? I don't know who I am if you aren't beside me." Tears streaked down my face and collected on our clasped hands.

"I do need you," she cried.

"Then fucking talk to me."

She dropped to the floor, eyes red and dripping. "Why are you quitting on me?"

"What? Bella—"

"I thought you wanted me out. You said—"

"No, sweetheart. Fuck. No." I grabbed her, pulling as much of her body against mine, constricting around her tighter with every choked breath I couldn't release. "Never. I'm never quitting on you."

"You haven't touched me," she sobbed. "I need you, but you won't touch me. It's like I've frozen over inside."

"I—" How did I answer that? How could I explain that I felt disgusting, that I didn't want to taint her. After everything she'd been through, I couldn't bring myself to take any more, no matter how badly I wanted her and nothing else. "I didn't want to push you. I thought you wanted space."

"I wanted a boyfriend," she stuttered against my neck. "I wanted my best friend. You were treating me like a child, but I'm not that little girl anymore."

"You're right," I whispered. "You're right. All I want is to be here for you. I want to be your rock, your everything."

"You are." Bella lifted her face to look at me. I wanted to die for every tear I'd caused her. "Edward, you're my favorite thing about waking up in the morning. You're my reason to smile. You're my happy thought."

"Punky." I kissed the hell out that girl. I mean I worshiped her lips like a convert.

"I love you," I spoke against her mouth. "I'm not going anywhere."

As far as last moments on Earth, that one had to hit the top of the list. What a way to go. The girl I loved, mine, and her perfect, salty lips were the last memory I took with me into the darkness.


End file.
